Apprentice
by UnderworldPomegranate
Summary: He longed to pass on his knowlege. She longed for excitement in her life. EOW, Kaybased, light and fluffy for the most part.
1. In the next room

**Be warned: this story is light and fluffy E/OW Persia-fic. The heroine is a bit of a Mary-Sue, although I like to think that she's at least original, and possibly entertaining. Serious literature this is not. It isn't really even serious fluff, because it isn't packed to the brim with sexiness. Sorry. I hope you like it anyway. If I'm lucky, it'll be a bit like wzlwmn's amazing "Rosy Hours" in tone.**

June 1850

"Can I help you, mademoiselle?"

She simply stared at me, eyes wide in a pale face framed by even paler hair. I rather commended her courage; most of the people I heard loitering outside my tent left rather than entering. It cut a rather imposing figure. I suppose that I did as well; I was still in my "magician's" black robes, and loomed almost a foot over this short girl.

"The show is over for today. Do you need something?"

"Yes!" she finally squeaked. "I, um, I, my name is Vasilida." The name was Russian for "princess"; rather an affectation for this girl, whose clothing appeared to have once belonged to someone fairly well-off, although now it was muddied and torn almost to the point of indecency. I ignored her outstretched hand, as I always did. It put the other off-balance, and placed me into a position of power. Besides, her hand looked quite dirty.

"Right, well," she continued nervously, "I just…it's very odd, I know…but do you think…could you maybe…"

"If you could make your request before the fair ends, perhaps?" I asked icily. No, I wasn't being fair to the terrified girl; I never have much feeling for my fellow-man after performing.

"I need you to take me with you when you leave Nijni-Novgorod!" she let out in a rush.

I blinked. What? I was a magician, not a caravan leader!

"I know it's a very odd request to make of a stranger, but I have to get out of here, and I have no money for transportation, and all the other magicians seem to have assistants, so I thought maybe you needed one. If you don't, though, I can clean for you, or...do anything else, any...services...of any kind." She bit her rather full lower lip.

What odd phrasing. By services, did she mean...surely not.

She must have seen my show to know that I had no assistant, meaning that she'd seen my face. Offering sexual favors for transportation wasn't all that uncommon—prostitution isn't called the "world's oldest trade" for nothing—but no one would offer such to me. An assistant, though...hmm.

"An assistant, you say? Do you have any performing skills or experience?" I asked.

"None that you want in your show, I think," she said, with a small smile that was almost a grimace. What did _that_ mean?

"So, I would have to train you if I wanted you as an assistant. Do you expect to be some sort of apprentice?" A magician's apprentice...what a strange notion. The idea of a female apprentice was even stranger. In fact, it was just insane enough to be an interesting idea…I wasn't too fond of day-to-day, menial chores, which often are the duty of an apprentice. Having this girl around to look at would be an added bonus; she was quite easy on the eyes. Did I mention that I was only about twenty at the time?

"That would be wonderful, but if you don't need one, I could pay my way in other ways..." She trailed off, smoothing her skirt with her hands.

Obviously, it was only my pathetic level of desperation that made me interpret this sexually.

"All right...consider yourself a probationary apprentice. I will take you at least as far as the next town that I come to. I'll expect you to keep my things in order and help me pack when it's time to go, and if you aren't entirely incompetent I'll let you help in my show. Is that agreeable?"

"Oh, yes! Thank you so much, sir!" She darted outside the tent, grabbed a small bag, and came back in, smiling, all terror apparently forgotten. "You won't regret this, I promise!"

What had I gotten myself into?

A woman was sleeping in the next room.

I paced around my closed-off portion of the tent for quite a while that night. While a hotel room was easily within my means, I preferred to sleep here, away from people. It had worked agreeably so far.

But now, there was a person in the next room. A female person, and a rather attractive one at that. Her hair was long and blonde, her eyes were bright and blue, and her curves were rather impressive...enough to distract any young male, let alone one as deprived as I was. I had planned to get some sleep this night; she wasn't helping.

Perhaps it would help to think of her in...safer terms. What did I know about Vasilida?

Well, she was insane. Why else would she want to travel with me? Of course, I was insane too; what did I think I was doing? A woman was sleeping in the next room! Not thinking about that...

She was strangely childlike, and almost mercurial. Her initial intense terror of me had faded within minutes; rather than the pale, wide-eyed girl who entered the tent, she was all smiles and laughs, bubbly and over-eager to help. Although I would have expected it to grate on my nerves, at least it was a change from terror.

I also knew that someone had hurt her very badly. Her neck was ringed with bruises. I saw them as soon as she relaxed a bit and forgot to hold her head and her hair in the exact right way to hide them. Someone with rather large hands had fastened them quite tightly around her neck. Her dress, too, was torn nearly to tatters.

No wonder she was so desperate to leave Nijni.

She also had a tendency to stand closer to me than I find entirely comfortable. Somehow, she didn't seem to be afraid of me. Perhaps, since someone had physically abused her and I hadn't offered any form of violence, she found me the lesser of two evils. Or maybe she was simply difficult to scare. Although I usually aim to inspire terror, her complete lack of fear was refreshing…and slightly intoxicating.

What would she have done if I asked for a more…carnal form of payment? I allowed myself to fantasize for a brief moment, then violently shook my head. She would have said no, of course. Some other hapless—or happy—performer would be carting her away from the fair. To escape from whoever bruised her, perhaps she would offer herself to an ordinary man, but never to me. Other options were still available to her.

I had to go to sleep. Sleep, sleep separated from an attractive woman by only a thin tent wall...

It would be a simple thing to rape her. Despite my skeletal thinness, I am quite strong. I could easily have walked through the tent flap, held her down, and had my way with her.

I could even tie her up, leave her in my bedroom, and have her every night.

Of course, that would put me on a level with whoever had put those bruises around her neck, but what of it? I was already a murderer. Most people would consider murder far more serious than rape. In this rather backwards area of the world, rape was hardly even taboo.

Perhaps that's why I decided not to. I did not want to be simply another of the vulgar hordes of humanity. I always take a perverse pleasure in being unpredictable; a monster, but not always monstrous; a killer and a thief, but never a rapist.

On this night, at least, she was safe from me. Whether I would get any sleep remained to be seen.


	2. Of Friends and Persians

**As you'll be able to tell pretty easily from this chapter, this fic is Kay-based. It's not that I don't like Leroux better; it's just that Kay's Erik is easier to write. Please let me know what you think.**

When I walked into the main tent after that sleepless night, I almost expected to find the girl, and the few things of marginal value that I left lying about, gone. Instead, I found her still asleep.

Having done a bit of work as an assassin, I have seen my fair share of people asleep. There are some rather endearing theories about sleep—that it reveals one's inner child, or that one smiles peacefully, and so on. I have found that, far more often, it involves a good deal of drooling and snoring. Vasilida was no exception; she was strangely contorted, with her arm thrown above her head, her mouth gaping open, and the blankets I had lent her tangled around her legs.

Even so, there is something distracting about the sight of a sleeping woman. I wanted to wake her—there is nothing worse than a lazy apprentice, I have often heard, and I had no desire to test the saying—but I didn't quite know how. I did not wish to touch her. Or rather, I did wish to, but I knew that it would be a very bad idea to allow myself to do so; shaking her awake was therefore not an option. Many male apprentices are awoken with a kick, but kicking a sleeping woman is not the sort of thing that a gentleman does, and I have always striven to be a gentleman.

Luckily, I did not need to solve this problem; her eyelids fluttered open as I stood there. She looked understandably startled for a moment, having awoken in a strange tent with a tall, masked man staring down at her, but recovered her composure shortly.

"Good morning," she said, smiling.

"Good morning," I replied, somewhat at a loss. I was not sure how to progress from there. At least she had slept in her clothing, so there was no awkwardness on that front. Oh, yes, she would need more clothing; she had brought only a small bag with her, presumably forgetting to bring clothing in her flight from whoever bruised her.

"Would you like me to make breakfast?" she asked, after the silence became uncomfortable.

"Ah—if you wish, you may go into the town and get something. I generally eat only once a day."

"Oh," she replied, looking alarmed. "Go into the town? Um, that isn't a very good…I mean, there is a…well…"

"Of course," I sighed. "Someone is looking for you. I suppose that you'll want me to fetch you something?"

"I wouldn't want to trouble you…you've been so kind…"

"Hm. Well, I need to buy supplies for our journey in any case; we should move on in less than a week, to avoid the crowds. I daresay you need more clothing, as well?"

"No…thank you, sir, but I can make do until we reach the next town, if you have a needle and thread about for me to repair this with."

"Very well. I do, but I'm afraid that all of my thread is black."

"Somehow, sir, that doesn't surprise me," she said, glancing at my monochromatic attire with a little laugh.

"I suppose not," I answered, rather surprised to find myself smiling a bit. "Well, you may make your repairs while I am shopping. I should be back by noon. Do not allow anyone into the tent."

"Of course, sir. And…thank you again for agreeing to take me with you."

"Think nothing of it," I replied, heading out the door.

* * *

As promised, her dress was mended by the time I returned with a bundle of unappetizing but easy to travel with food. Her sewing was surprisingly inexpert, with unevenly sized and spaced stitches. What peasant girl doesn't know how to sew? Perhaps she came from a higher station in life than I had assumed. On the other hand, she may merely be clumsy, in which case she would do my show no good. She certainly couldn't be in my show in that outfit; the pale pink fabric with inexpert black stitches all over it almost made even me laugh.

I handed her a pastry with some kind of meat in it, and she fell on it ravenously.

"When did you last eat?" I inquired. She stared up at me, eyes wide and cheeks bulging. I found myself once again on the edge of laughter. "Never mind, you can tell me when you finish. Just try not to eat it all; I don't want to have to buy more food before we leave. Now, I will be performing as soon as the sun goes down, but we still have a few hours. I think that I should see if you have any aptitude for this trade."

"Yes, sir," she replied, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Obviously not an aristocrat, then. "What would you like me to do?"

I started her on card tricks, and then walked her through a few of my simplest illusions. I cannot reveal my secrets, of course, so I will merely tell you that she quickly caught on. I had feared that I might need to explain that I was truly using magnets, not magic, but she seemed surprisingly well educated.

"I had a…_friend_…once, a doctor from Europe," she told me when I enquired. "He taught me a bit about science, and a few words of French and Latin. Bonjour, merci, that sort of thing. You're European, aren't you?"

"I am," I replied. "French, in fact. I can teach you more of the language, but first we should concentrate on your education in illusion. You seem to have a knack for it."

"Oh, wonderful," she smiled, clasping her hands together. "Does that mean that I can be in your act?"

"Eventually, perhaps," I replied sternly. "You still have much to learn." But her enthusiasm was contagious. She was like a puppy, delighting in each new discovery of a still-strange world.

"I promise, sir, I won't let you down," she said seriously. "I'll work very hard. I'll be the best apprentice ever."

"Be that as it may, I have a performance in an hour," I reminded her. "Help me set up."

* * *

My act was a great success, as always, but it left me drained and with little patience for dealing with others.

"Oh, sir, your voice is gorgeous," Vasilida murmured worshipfully as I walked into my private quarters, where I had left her for the duration. I started; I had forgotten that she was there. "That's why I decided to ask you for help, I just couldn't stay away. And you're so much better than the other magicians—none of them can do anything like—"

"Go out there and get the money off the stage," I ordered. "Don't take any of it or I'll flay you. And stop talking!"

"Yes, sir," she whispered with a familiar wide-eyed stare of fear. She scampered quickly out. Well, the sooner she realized that traveling with me wouldn't be all meat pies and magnets, the better.

I lay down on my bed and tried to rub my temples under the mask. With her around, I dared not take it off. Why had I ever agreed to this?

Oh, yes, I remembered. It was because she was female and attractive. I had, just once, allowed myself to be ruled by my base desires, although of course, not enough to satisfy them. Just the wrong amount of weakness, I mused ironically; I allowed temptation into my home, but was unable to enjoy succumbing to it.

But I couldn't simply turn her out; she was intelligent, and learned quickly. That would go to waste in this ignorant village. I had almost sated my desire to be taught in Italy; now, I desired to teach. She was my apprentice; I could not send her back to the one who bruised her.

And it was pleasant to have someone happy around, I admitted to myself.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon," said a heavily accented male voice in the main tent. "I am looking for the magician? Erik?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but performing has tired him. If you could perhaps come back tomorrow morning—"

"No need," I snapped, entering the main tent. "The performance is over for today. You will have to come tomorrow evening like everyone else." The dark-skinned man cowered, and Vasilida scampered around to be out of my field of vision.

"Pardon me, sir," said the man in Persian. "I am not here for a performance, rather to extend to you a request from the shah-in-shah himself."

Of course. The world convinces you to allow one request with blue eyes and lush curves, then springs another one on you with a terrified Persian.

"Oh? And what does the shah-in-shah want?" I asked coldly.

"He wishes to invite you to his court, for your fame has spread far and wide, and he dearly longs to see such a marvel for himself."

I laughed softly, a move calculated to terrify. Laughter without humor is disconcerting to most.

"So you think I come and go at the whim of kings, like other men?"

"No," he said quietly, "I can see already that you are not like other men."

Although this was the concession that I had hoped to win, I resented it. My new apprentice treated me like a human being (when I wasn't intentionally terrifying her); why couldn't this man?

"You speak more truly than you know, Persian. You might do better to remain silent!" I took a few steps towards him, allowing menace to creep into my voice and bearing. "Suppose I do not choose to accompany you to Persia? What will become of you…_King's Messenger_?"

"If I fail at court, I shall lose my position in court, my livelihood, and quite possibly my life," he said. I could see that he was trembling, but his voice remained steady. As seemed to be happening more and more often, I almost smiled. He was like a child standing up to a bully.

"What is your position?" I asked.

"I am the daroga of Mazanderan," he replied with a small bow. Daroga, I knew, meant police chief.

"Then I may take it that the chief of police has come with armed men?" I could tell from the degree his terror that he had not—I have seen a lot of terror—but if he attempted to lie, I would not accompany him.

"No, sir, I come alone save for a servant who waits outside."

"That, if I may say so, is remarkably careless of you," I chuckled. Something about this man's foolish, cowering honesty was endearing. "I trust you conduct your business with greater efficiency at home!"

He was silent. I went over to the samovar in the corner, and noticed that Vasilida was there. I had almost forgotten her.

"I will pour the tea, sir," she murmured, "If you will tell me where the cups are." I motioned her to a cabinet, and returned to sit across from the Persian, indicating that he should do so as well.

"What does the shah offer in return for my services?" I asked as Vasilida handed us our tea. I was pleased to note that she had remembered the lemon.

"Wealth…honor…"

I waved a hand at him, uninterested. Wealth was easy to acquire, and no one truly honors a freak.

"Power."

"Power?" I asked. That was something I sadly lacked as a stage show. I had gotten a taste of it as a boy, terrifying gypsies…

"If you please the shah and the khanum, your word would be law."

"For a time." I held few illusions about politics.

"For a time, but…during that time…" he spread his hands wide.

"Yes…I understand your meaning." Power…

"Then…you will come with me? If you agree, we can leave tomorrow, and your…companion…can accompany us, of course."

My companion? Oh, yes. Vasilida. I would need to think on this.

"Your persistence begins to annoy me, and you will find that I don't care to be annoyed—not even by the daroga of Mazanderan. Go now. You will have your answer when I am ready to give it and not before."

He set down his teacup, bowed, and left.

"Are you leaving with him, then?" asked Vasilida as soon as he was gone.

"I must think on it," I replied. She nodded, looking at the floor.

"If I do leave," I said, softening a bit, "I will take you with me. You are my apprentice now, and I will not leave you unless you prove yourself unsuitable as such."

"Oh, thank you!" she said, looking up.

"Now, go to bed," I said. "We can discuss this in the morning."

"I have always wanted to see Persia," she said, bouncing up and down a bit in her excitement. It was rather distracting. "I…_knew_…a Persian who taught me quite a bit of the language, I won't be useless, you'll see!"

"Go to bed."

"Persia…"

Two days hence, we were aboard a disgustingly overcrowded trade ship, heading for Persia.


	3. The Voyage

* * *

My discomfort at being confined so closely with other people was not alleviated by Vasilida's seasickness. The girl was not cut out for water travel, and spent most of her time leaning over the side with a green tinge to her face. Even my herbal remedies did little for her.

"That's it," I announced to her after a gentle breeze sent her rushing once again to the side. "We are getting off this floating prison."

"No, sir," she whispered. "I'll be all right. Don't worry about me."

"I am not," I snapped. "But I do not wish to be confined with so many _people,_ including one who is vomiting, for any longer. Help me bring our luggage off the boat."

The daroga—I had learned that his name was Nadir—came upon us as we led the horses off the boat. They had been little happier than Vasilida, and were overjoyed to be disembarking at Kazan.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "This is no time to go ashore."

"I intend to travel no further like a crate of tea," I replied. "You, of course, can do exactly as you please."

"You can't seriously mean to travel to the shore of the Caspian by land!" he gasped.

"Perhaps I do not choose to continue at all," I said coldly. "I don't care to be confined in such disagreeable proximity to the human race."

"I admit that the journey has not been comfortable—"

"Comfort has nothing to do with it."

"I have every hope of transferring to a steamer at Sarma, in which case we shall reach the Caspian in a matter of days." He glanced at Vasilida, adding, "It should travel much more smoothly, as well. Few are seasick on a steamer."

"I am not interested in speed or in seasickness," I replied sharply. "Only in privacy. If I am to continue this journey at all, it will be by land."

"That's ridiculous!" he cried. "Such a journey would take us weeks—_weeks_! How am I to explain this unpardonable delay to the shah?"

"Perhaps you would prefer to explain your failure instead. Good-bye, Daroga…enjoy the remainder of your voyage aboard this floating packing case!"

He agreed to leave the ship, as I knew he would.

Of course, my discomfort was not the only reason that I decided to leave the ship in Kazan. I had heard that there were extensive catacombs there, and I wished to see them. My insistence shocked Nadir, but not, to my surprise, Vasilida.

"Sir, why are all these bones here?" she whispered as we walked through the dank catacombs.

"Kazan was besieged over three hundred years ago," I told her. "The dead from that fight are buried here." I began to gather a skeleton into a bag.

"What do you want with that?" demanded the daroga. "You're surely not going to take it away with you."

"But of course," I replied. "I have rarely seen such a perfectly preserved specimen. Look…it is possible to see where the knife chipped the rib bone on penetration."

"How do you know that it was a knife?" asked Vasilida, curiously.

"I have dissected sufficient corpses who died of knife wounds to know that the signs are unmistakable."

"_Dissected?_" he asked, aghast.

"Dissected?" asked Vasilida. "That must have been interesting. Can you show me?"

"Certainly. I will do so as soon as the opportunity arises. Do not look so shocked, daroga. Dissections are the only way to reach any true understanding of the human body. I have an academic interest in the physiology of _Homo sapiens_…a certain _curiosity_, you understand."

He looked askance at both me and the unshaken Vasilida. I was pleased with her eagerness to learn, and amused by his shock. Disturbing him was almost too easy.

I managed to do it again as we walked through the streets of Kazan by picking every wealthy merchant's pocket as we passed. Vasilida, of course, seemed delighted.

"Oh, sir, you must teach me this!"

"Of course. Here," I said, handing her a purse. "Go buy yourself something. I would recommend a new dress." As she scampered off, I turned to Nadir. "What about you, daroga?" I asked. "Would the chief of police like to know how to pick pockets?"

To my vast amusement, he hesitated a moment before refusing indignantly.

* * *

A land journey was said to be dangerous; unsavory individuals were thought to lurk within the woods. I rather hoped that we would be attacked so that I could demonstrate a dissection for Vasilida.

The novelty of traveling in a group kept me in good spirits for a while. I told stories as the others huddled around the campfire every evening, enjoying their wondering faces. Vasilida's education slowed, of necessity, but continued. Her prior education must have been extremely chaotic; imagine knowing that sound is created by waves moving through the air, but not knowing what a mammal is!

About a week into our trip, however, the continued lack of absolute privacy grated on my nerves a bit too much. I refused to leave my tent, and nearly killed Nadir when he attempted to remind me of our errand's urgency.

Just when I had almost decided to reenter the outside world, I heard him talking to Vasilida outside my tent.

"Does he often get like this?"

"I don't know, sir. I only joined him the day before you came."

"Really? I thought that you had been…er…_involved_ for quite a while."

"Oh, we aren't _involved,_ sir. Not like that. I'm his apprentice."

"Oh! I had wondered how you could…I mean…his _face…_"

I stopped listening, and did not leave my tent for a full week.

* * *

Vasilida and Nadir became very friendly over the course of our journey. Occasionally, this would send me stubbornly into my tent, but I grew to accept it. She was simply friendly to everyone, I told myself. I could not forbid her to speak to him.

Besides, I was growing fond of him despite myself. I saved his life when he almost died of a lung infection (the details are far too boring to go into now), which made me feel that he was my responsibility somehow. Wonderful; I felt as though I had become a father without being able to enjoy creating my unruly children, the curious Vasilida and the skittish Nadir.

While he was recovering, I finally had the opportunity to show Vasilida the interior of a human body. Some vagabond entered our camp with ill intent, and I calmly lassoed him in full view of the rest of the party.

The daroga and his servant, of course, were shocked. Vasilida stared at the rope with open admiration.

"Sir, sometimes I think that if I live to be a hundred and fifty I'll never have a chance to learn all that you know," she said.

"Perhaps," I replied, "but I will make an effort to teach you whatever you think is worth learning. Bring my knives out of the tent, if you would. They are not as precise as one might wish, but they will do for a simple demonstration of dissection."

She clapped her hands together gleefully and ran into the tent, as the daroga looked on, shaking his head.

* * *

I was forced to stop Vasilida's lessons, for the most part, when we reached the Caspian. Her seasickness from the river looked mild compared to this. The daroga was amused that I could bring him back from the brink of death, but was unable to cure seasickness.

"It is not as simple as that," I snapped. "The medicine has no time to do her good before it's over the side. If seasickness was life-threatening, I could get it into her, but that procedure would be more unpleasant than the seasickness itself."

He did not ask for details.

* * *

I was surprised and pleased when, at the end of our journey, he invited us into his home. I rarely receive such invitations, and was careful to be a courteous houseguest.

The daroga's house was rather grand. I had expected Vasilida to be overcome by her customary wonder, but she did not seem intimidated or awed by the opulence around us, merely curious about the difference between Persian and Russian decorating. The girl's past was still a mystery to me, one I dared not pry into for fear that she would do the same to me.

Barely ten minutes after we entered, a small boy ran up to Nadir and desperately hugged him.

"Father! You've been away for so long! I thought you were never ever going to come back!"

I saw at a glance that the child was deathly ill, and gladly agreed to show him some magic the next day, much to his delight.

"Reza, we have another guest as well," reminded his father.

"Hello," he said, turning to Vasilida, squinting at her unveiled face with the same curiosity he showed my masked one. "You are so pale. Are you a ghost who helps the magician?"

"No," she said, laughing, "but I am his helper. I come from a place up north, where everyone is pale and it is cold all the time."

"Oh," he said excitedly, "Have you never been to Persia before? Come with me, I'll show you around the house!" With his father's permission, he led Vasilida by the hand into the house.

"How long has the boy's sight been failing?" I asked the daroga as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Perhaps eighteen months."

"And the weakness of the muscles came later?"

"Yes," he said, swallowing hard. "I am told it is a childish malady which he will grow out of in time."

Why must I always be the bearer of bad tidings?

"This is a progressive and degenerative sickness, Daroga."

"Then…you do not think he will regain his sight after all?" he asked, staring.

"I do not think it is a thing you should hope for," I said, unable to tell him the whole truth. "And now I have work to attend to…Perhaps you would be good enough to excuse me from supper tonight."

He nodded, and I retreated to my temporary quarters.

I worked all night to make Reza an automaton that would play music for him. He accepted it with delight, and nodded gravely when I told him that he had to clap with enthusiasm to convince it to play.

Nadir sought me out in the evening. I had sent Vasilida back to her room to practice her sleight of hand, and was sitting beside a lovely fountain, brooding. He handed me a sherbet, and we sat together in comfortable silence for a time. But I had to break the silence; I had to tell him the truth about his child.

"Your wife has been dead for some time," I finally said. "Since it is not customary for those of your faith to confine themselves in a monogamous manner, I must assume that you loved her very much."

He looked at me, outraged, but when I sadly held his glance the anger turned to fear, though not fear of me. He began to tremble.

"Does the child resemble her?" I asked.

"Yes," he whispered.

"I am very sorry," I said. Unable to watch his grief, I put the sherbet on the table and left, entering the house.

He sat there for a long time.


	4. Welcome to Persia

**It's come to my attention that I was a little unclear about a few details of the story. At the beginning of chapter one, they were in Russia, so it isn't unusual that Vasilida is white. This is an AU story; there will be no Christine. Please keep reading and reviewing!**

* * *

We stayed at that house for many days. I told stories to Reza, and Vasilida and I taught him some simple tricks. She was far more patient than I. I was telling them a tale that I had learned in Germany when Nadir entered. 

"We must leave on the morrow," he announced. "We have kept the shah waiting for too long."

"Why must they go so soon?" asked Reza, jumping unsteadily to his feet. "Why can't they stay a little longer?"

"Reza, the shah has commanded his presence at court. You know that."

"But you don't have to go _now,_ not straightaway…"

"The shah—"

"I hate the shah!" he suddenly shouted. "I hate him!"

I realized then that in my efforts to entertain the boy, I had somehow bound him to me, made him dependent on me. If we did not leave now, if he was allowed to depend on me one iota more, then my eventual departure would kill him.

I had to prevent that.

"_Reza! Come to me,_" I said, lacing my voice with hypnotism. It was easy enough to take the boy's will; I had almost done so already, accidentally.

He calmly walked over to me.

"Will you come back?" he whispered.

"I will return as soon as my court duties permit," I told him honestly. "But if you cry when I leave, your father will forbid me to come here. You have behaved very badly in his presence…Go to him now and ask for his forgiveness."

He did so, of course. They were completely bound to my will, playacting the parts of penitent son and forgiving father. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Vasilida looking back and forth from me to them, her eyes narrowed to slits.

It was the first time that I truly realized that the mind behind that bubbly persona and curvaceous figure might be almost as intelligent and coldly calculating as my own. As soon as she saw me looking at her, she smiled, her earlier sharp look gone.

"Well, I'm glad everything is settled," she said. Nadir and Reza both started a bit, shocked out of their dream. I did nothing to change that, as Reza seemed calm. "Come over here and give me a kiss goodbye, Reza dear." He did so, and I saw the daroga looking at me with alarm.

Two intelligent minds, then. They should make my stay in Persia very interesting indeed.

* * *

I found the trip to Tehran rather dull, although Vasilida took in the jungle around her with her customary round-mouthed curiosity. I was no longer fooled, though; eager to learn she may be, but childlike she definitely was not. 

Tehran itself was a great disappointment, squalid and filthy. The people were poor, the buildings were hideous, and everything was covered in dirt. Worse than the view was the Daroga's nattering insistence that I would have to humble myself before the shah.

"_Salutations, O Glory of the World!_" I mockingly read off a list he handed me. "_Let me be your sacrifice, O Shadow of God! _Do you honestly expect me to mouth this nauseating garbage?"

"I know it may sound a little absurd to European ears—"

"It's worse than absurd, Daroga—it's an insult to human intelligence!"

"It's merely a court formality," he sighed. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Then if it doesn't mean anything, it won't matter if I don't say it."

"Sir, surely it couldn't hurt," said Vasilida. "I don't know about you, but I don't really want to be executed."

"I have no intention whatsoever of groveling like some ridiculous worm simply to satisfy the colossal vanity of some king! I will speak to him with common civility and nothing more."

"Oh, very well," he said. "Insist on this mad infringement of etiquette if you must."

"I must," I said firmly, and did not hear any more opposition.

"Vasilida, do you own any sort of veil that you could wear?" he asked, apparently hoping for an easier battle.

"No," she said, "Why? I'm not Muslim."

"It would be diplomatic of you to wear one while in the shah's palace," he said. "Members of the court could…get the wrong impression of you, if you do not."

"Let them," she said mulishly. "I don't want to stick my face in a ball of cloth. I'll suffocate in this heat."

"Vasilida, don't argue," I cut in. "Persian men are less than picky about asking for permission from women, particularly women they have the wrong impression of. If you wish to leave Ashraf in the same state that you enter it, a veil would be wise."

She gave me a confused look at that, but gave in and bought a veil at a booth by the road.

* * *

As I was still irritated with both of them, I contrived to disappear as soon as we entered the palace. Keeping to the shadows and avoiding servants, I wandered about until I found a room with an immense, hideously over-decorated throne. It was coated in jewels, and I decided that I should take a few…to teach the decorators a lesson about restraint. 

I sat down and got to work prying free diamonds. I had removed three and was working on a fourth when Nadir and Vasilida rushed in, both looking worried.

"Allah have mercy!" he gasped.

"Oh, there you are," I said calmly. "Would either of you care for a diamond?"

"I'll take one, sir," Vasilida said, "But shouldn't we be going to see the shah now?"

"Come down from there," whispered the daroga furiously. "If you are discovered it will be the end of us all!"

"Here you are, Vasilida," I said, handing her a diamond. "Daroga? There are rubies and emeralds if you prefer, but they would be harder to replace. It would be very much more convenient to me if you simply settled for a diamond."

"Are you out of your mind?" he asked, somehow managing to whisper and scream at the same time. "For pity's sake come down and let us leave this room before it is too late."

"Oh, Daroga," I sighed, "What a truly boring little fart you are at times!"

I replaced the diamonds with glass, then swept out of the room, obliging the other two to follow me at a trot.

"Come, now!" I said, turning back to them and pulling out the Daroga's pocket watch, which I had taken earlier. I glanced at it, then announced, "We're late!" and tossed it back to him.

* * *

The shah's garden was full of life of both the plant and animal varieties. I took the opportunity to give Vasilida a bit of a zoology lesson—I found it quite odd that she understood the basics of three languages not her own (and one was dead Latin!), but was utterly ignorant of zoology. 

"Swans are ugly when they hatch," I told her, "and yet they grow to be the most beautiful and majestic of birds. That is one of life's pretty little miracles, like the snake that sheds its skin, and the caterpillar which turns into a butterfly. Metamorphosis…that's the true magic in this world. Would you like to be turned into a swan, Vasilida?"

"Ummm…" she replied, looking at me with wide eyes.

"Don't worry," I reassured her. "If such physical alchemy really lay within my power, I certainly wouldn't waste it on you. You do not need it."

The breath caught in my throat as I considered just how true that was. For a strange moment, we simply looked at each other, listening to the birds.

"Come," the daroga finally said. "You must not keep the shah waiting any longer."

We walked towards a lovely kiosk which was, oddly, full of cats. I had heard rumors of the shah's pets, but did not expect such a number of felines. They left their embroidered cushions to rub their heads against my legs. Animals have always been attracted to me.

"Remarkable!" said a man who I assumed was the shah, coming towards us. "I have never before observed such a phenomenon…never. Daroga!" He motioned him to leave. I do not think that he noticed Vasilida at all. "You may leave us."

Nadir and Vasilida left, looking rather bemused.

The shah was easily impressed by a bit of sleight of hand, and gave me several delicacies of his native land to take away with me. I fed most of it to the swans, but saved a bit for Vasilida. She had lost quite a bit of weight on our sea trip, and was only beginning to get it back.

I saw Vasilida and the daroga watching me feed the swans. Someone else, trailing a line of cronies, came up and began speaking to them.

"Who on earth is that funeral creature in the mask?" he demanded of the daroga. "And who is this girl?"

I could not hear Nadir's reply; he lowered his voice. The newcomer did not.

"Magician?" he asked. "Ah, yes. I seem to remember some moonshine a while back about a miracle worker. Sent to find him, were you not, Nadir?—another absurd extravagance for the treasury to foot, I suppose! And really, Nadir, you do not have to beat around the bush with me. 'Assistant' indeed! Well, at least if he has a concubine, he should keep those strange hands of his to himself elsewhere! We really have quite enough pederasts at court, do we not, my friends?"

His entourage laughed, right on cue.

"Young lady, if you ever grow tired of skeletal magicians, come and see me. I could use an _assistant_," he said to Vasilida. As soon as the crowd of giggling sycophants left, I came to join Nadir and Vasilida.

"Perhaps you would care to see the aviary," the daroga suggested uncomfortably.

"I have heard sufficient squawking peacocks for one afternoon," I muttered. "Who was that?"

"The grand vizier," he admitted, "Mirza Taqui Khan."

"Thank you. That is a name I shall take great pleasure in remembering. I assume he has influence?"

"He's the shah's brother by marriage, and his voice is respected by many."

"I see."

"Sir, if you are angry at him on my behalf, please forget it," said Vasilida. "It does not matter, and surely many people will think the same thing."

"I am angry enough on my own behalf, thank you," I snapped. "I do not care to be called a pederast."

"Erik—" the daroga tried to intervene.

"It would be pleasant to bathe and change one's funeral garments," I interrupted. "Perhaps you would be good enough to conduct me to my apartment now."


	5. The Khanum

My apartment was more than satisfactory. It even included a small room, presumably the Persian equivalent of a sitting room, which could be rearranged for Vasilida to sleep in.

"These apartments are normally reserved for an officer of state," warned the daroga. "You must expect to make enemies."

"I never expect to make anything else," I replied.

"Sir, what did you and the shah talk about?" Vasilida asked.

"Among other things, we discussed the appalling architectural poverty of the city."

"He wasn't angry?" asked the daroga, shocked.

"No, he was rather interested. He has asked me to design and build a new palace outside Ashraf. If the result pleases him I shall be permitted to rebuild Tehran."

"Can you do that?" asked Vasilida, her eyes—as always—wide.

"There is nothing I cannot do, if I choose."

"But, Erik," Nadir protested, "You can't conjure up an entire palace. That requires professional training—experience of building."

"I have had all the experience I require," I snapped. How dare he?

"Are you sure?"

I leapt towards him, furious that he would doubt me and slight Giovanni.

"I learned my skills from a very great master mason!" I spat. "Do you dare to doubt that?"

"No," he protested, backing away. "I don't doubt that you can do anything you say."

I continued to advance on him, hardly seeing him through a haze of red anger, reaching out for his throat.

Suddenly, I felt a small hand on my shoulder.

"Sir, he didn't mean any harm," said a female voice. "Why are you so angry?"

She was touching my shoulder…just as Giovanni had. He had taught me, now I was the teacher. There was no need to be angry.

I put my hands down and sighed, pulling the silver compass from my pocket and turning it over and over.

"I wonder," I asked softly, after a long moment of silence, "If you would like to learn anything about architecture, Vasilida."

"If you are willing to teach me, sir," she replied simply, "then I would be happy to learn from you."

I sighed, and finally walked away, slipping my shoulder out of her grasp to move to the window.

"Not today," I said. "I am in no mood for teaching today. Perhaps we will start tomorrow."

After a few moments, the daroga slipped out of the room. Vasilida went into her side room a bit later, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

* * *

A few hours later, as I continued to brood, there came a knock on the door.

"Enter," I said, slightly surprised to see that it was Nadir.

"Shouldn't you be heading back to Mazanderan by now, daroga?" I asked. Vasilida came out from her side room.

"The shah has commanded me to be your bodyguard," he replied miserably.

"Bodyguard? Absurd! I have no need for a bodyguard. I will go and tell him so at once."

"No!" he protested as I rose. "Please do no such thing, Erik. The shah would see that as a sign that I displeased you. I would be punished, possibly by many months in prison."

"Why do you tolerate such gross injustices?" I demanded. "It is ridiculous! Why do you not go back to your son and tell the shah to go hang himself?"

"Erik, if I did that, I would likely be killed, my estates would be confiscated, and my son would die in the streets. Please, absurd though it may be, allow me to be your bodyguard."

"I suppose," I sighed, "that you have also been commissioned to spy on me?"

He nodded, and looked at the floor.

"Well, that's honest, at least," I said. "I suppose I'll have to give you something interesting to report. Meanwhile, you can guard Vasilida's body. It shouldn't be quite as dull." Whether you believe me or not, I honestly did not notice the innuendo in that statement until I said it. I meant only to say that she was not yet as adept at protecting herself as I. Luckily, Vasilida seemed more amused than offended.

"With pleasure," said the daroga, winking at her. I felt a twinge of jealousy, but shook it off. I had no right to be jealous; she was my apprentice and obviously nothing more. Why should I begrudge the daroga his right to flirt with attractive young women?

All logic aside, I was in a rather foul mood by the time Nadir left. I'm afraid that I snapped a bit too much at Vasilida when she had trouble with her lesson that evening—I had planned to start her on architecture, but she was utterly ignorant of geometry—and I retired early, as we both needed to rest before meeting the khanum the next day.

* * *

Nadir walked us to the boundary of kismet, where the harem lived, but was not permitted inside. Vasilida looked out-of-place and uncomfortable against the luxurious and very middle-eastern furnishings in her sensible Russian dress; I told myself that I would have to arrange for more suitable clothing for her. Would she be willing to wear cooler but less modest Persian-style clothing? Her Russian dress looked ridiculous with her veil anyway.

We were led to a small courtyard, surrounded by half a dozen eunuchs, and told to wait for the khanum. Vasilida attempted to engage a eunuch in conversation, but he (it?) was less than forthcoming. Never the most patient of men, I grew restless as the minutes passed slowly. We had been called here, but the khanum kept us waiting for over an hour.

"Calm down, sir," Vasilida said quietly as I began to pace. "She will probably be here any minute."

"Any minute?" I spat. "We have been waiting for an hour! I am leaving!"

I attempted to leave the circle of eunuchs, but they drew their swords, obviously less than willing to allow me to leave. I sent fireworks circling around myself to drive them back, pulling Vasilida behind me in preparation for a fight.

Luckily, I did not have to fight anyone. As the flames died away, I heard mocking applause from the balcony overlooking the courtyard. A woman stood there, dressed and veiled expensively, and with an imposing presence similar to the one I have worked to develop. This, then, must be the khanum.

"I trust that you have not come all the way from Russia simply to show me fireworks," she said. Perhaps my time in Persia would be even more interesting than I had thought.

"By no means, madame," I replied. "That indeed was a mere trifle, designed to amuse tiresome children."

I indicated the eunuchs, who appeared to be suffering from hurt pride, and she laughed.

"If that is a mere trifle," she laughed, "then I am eager to see your true skills. And also to see you, my friend. The mask is likewise a device to frighten infants. Remove it!"

I tensed. Even if I had wished to show my face to this formidable woman, I could see that there was a crowd of young lovelies behind her. Vasilida had presumably seen my face before, but only from a distance. The eunuchs still circled us. All of these people would likely be around me for quite some time; I did not wish for them to see my face. Not at all.

"Madame, I crave your indulgence in this…I would rather not."

"Indeed!" she snapped, with a glare behind her to silence the whispering concubines. "My indulgence is not inexpensive, you know. If you wish to continue to hide your face, perhaps you would like to make a gift to the harem of that young woman by your side?"

Vasilida gave me an alarmed look. I struggled with myself for a moment, the need to hide and the need to protect this young innocent fiercely at odds. Of course, the debate was settled before it started; Giovanni would never have abandoned his apprentice to this woman and neither would I.

I ripped off my mask and threw it to the ground. Of course, the young girls behind the khanum began to shriek; even the eunuchs looked uncomfortable. Vasilida, though, looked at me with such relief as to almost make up for it. She truly was comfortable with my face; it boggled the mind.

"Be silent!" the khanum ordered her women, snapping me out of my brief reverie. "The next woman who screams will be beaten to death for her stupidity, I swear it! Now leave me—go, all of you!"

She smiled down at me. It was strange, I thought detachedly, that her acceptance of my face felt ominous, while Vasilida's was comforting. Something came glittering from the balcony—a diamond ring. I caught it.

"If your imagination matches your face," she said quietly, "it will make you the most powerful man in Persia."

I slipped the ring onto my little finger, smiling a bit. Power is a great comfort to a man without hope of love.

"Is that a prophecy, or a promise?" I enquired.

"That, my friend," she said with a laugh, "is entirely for you to decide."

* * *

When we left kismet, I felt drained. Conversation with the khanum was taxing; the woman set me on edge, and being unmasked has never exactly put me at ease.

As soon as we were out of sight of the eunuchs, Vasilida took my arm. I looked at her, startled.

"Thank you," she said. "I know you don't like to show people your face, and you could have just left me there and kept the mask on. Thank you for not doing that."

"Of course," I replied. "You are far too intelligent to be wasted on the shah. Besides, I have put too much time and effort into instructing you to allow you to join a harem."

"I would be bored silly in a harem," she giggled. "They probably don't even have books."

We heard footsteps, and she immediately released my arm. Of course, neither of us wanted the palace to make unwarranted assumptions about our relationship, but I mourned the loss of contact. Touch has the appeal of a novelty to me.

"There you are!" said Nadir, walking quickly up. "What happened?"

As Vasilida told him about it, I was irritated to notice that she touched his arm several times in the course of her narration. Obviously, the girl simply liked to touch people, and did not understand the effect it had on me. I upbraided myself for hoping that she felt any sort of affection for me other than that of a student for a teacher…but I could not help it.


	6. Rosy Hours

**Sorry I'm a little late with this update; I've been very busy.

* * *

**

My first official magic "show" for the shah was to be moderately spectacular, even by my standards (only moderately, of course, because I had to keep him occupied for a while yet; it would not do to show him my best material right at the start.) Vasilida was to be the main attraction, in a way; she and the skeleton from Kazan were to waltz around the room, slowly rising from the floor until they were over everyone's heads. She also had a few tasks to perform backstage, during my portion of the show. I had complete confidence in her; she did not.

"Oh, sir," she moaned, "I'll never be able to do it! Why did you ever decide to train me?"

"Because I know that you have talent," I replied firmly. "You will do fine, as long as you stop worrying." But I could see that she could not. I had to think of something, or she would make herself sick from fright.

"Vasilida, would you like to buy some Persian clothing?" I asked. "I'm sure that it would be much cooler, and it would go much better with that veil."

"Oh, can I?" she asked excitedly. "Wait…I don't have any money." Her face fell. I was surprised at her ready acceptance; I had expected to have to convince her of the propriety. Western girls are often very concerned about that sort of thing, or so I had been lead to believe.

"Don't worry about money," I replied with a wave. "You are my apprentice; I must provide for you. Besides, what do you mean, you don't have any money? I gave you a purse full of gold from a merchant's pocket and a diamond from the throne."

"Actually, the purse was full of opium," she said, nose wrinkling in distaste. "I don't think I can spend that. And I had rather wanted to put the diamond on a necklace, or something. It is so beautiful."

"Why don't you give me the opium, then," I said. I had been meaning to give it a try. "I'll buy you all the clothes you need."

* * *

We found some darker-colored outfits that contrasted with Vasilida's light skin. I think that she enjoyed the novelty of being exotic here, as a Persian woman would have been in Russia. She had regained most of the weight lost on our sea journey by now, and was breathtakingly beautiful. She looked so soft and welcoming that I couldn't help but imagine lying close to her, pulling her against me as a pillow, finding peace within her softness…

I violently shook my head. Having such thoughts about my apprentice was simply wrong. I refused to jeopardize one of the few friendships that I had ever had on the slim chance that she would accept me.

"Oh, you don't like this one?" she asked, obviously having seen my head shaking.

"It's lovely," I said, "I thought I felt an insect on my ear. Do you think you have enough?"

"For now," she agreed with a smile. "Thank you so much for agreeing to buy them for me!"

She put her arms around me in a loose, friendly hug, and I thought to myself that I would gladly buy her all the clothes in the world if she would only continue to hold me forever. She let go before I worked up the courage to return the embrace, but it was still a memory for me to treasure forever.

* * *

The performance was at least as successful as our shopping excursion save for one mishap. Mirza Taqui Khan was rather too appreciative of Vasilida's new look, and reached an arm out as she danced past with the skeleton (whom she had, for some reason, named Grigori.) He brushed a hand along her bottom, much to my disgust. She, to my infinite delight, made Grigori swat his hand away. I threw my voice to come from his mouth.

"Find your own dance partner, sir," warned the skeleton. "This one prefers the dead over you!"

The story was repeated constantly for weeks. The Grand Vizier fumed.

* * *

The morning after the performance, the khanum sent a messenger to summon us to kismet—an hour before sunrise. I was awake, as I usually am, but Vasilida had retired only three hours earlier, when the shah's party finally ended. I knocked on her door, but she did not answer. After a brief moment of debate, I decided to go in uninvited; it is, after all, better to have one's privacy invaded than one's head removed, and the "invitation" had asked for her specifically.

She was lying on her stomach, arms and legs splayed across her bed, with a sheet that reached only to the small of her back. Other than that, she wore not a scrap.

I swallowed convulsively, staring. Of course—we hadn't bought her any nightclothes. She would hardly sleep in her daytime clothing in her own room, with the Persian heat.

The curving underside of her breast was just visible beneath an outstretched arm. The desire to run away, stop invading her privacy, and save our friendship fought with the stronger need to launch myself onto the bed with her and explore every inch of that inviting body…

I must have made some sort of noise, because she stirred at that moment. Somehow, I gained the strength to avert my eyes, knowing that if I saw any more I would throw myself at her, devil take the consequences. I cleared my throat.

"Oh!" she squeaked. "Ummm…sir…did you need something? What time is it?"

"There is an hour yet until dawn," I replied, still looking away. "The khanum summoned us to her. I apologize for invading your privacy, but we must go."

"Oh…of course," she said. I heard a blush in her voice.

"Be ready to leave in ten minutes," I said, striding from her room. It would take me at least that long to calm myself.

* * *

The khanum sent Vasilida off to "get to know the other ladies," as she put it, while she forced a detailed description of last night's entertainment out of me. Of course, I was forbidden to wear the mask in her presence.

"But how, Erik?" she asked me when I had finished. "How did you make it work?"

"Magic, of course, madame," I replied.

"I know fully well that there is no such thing as magic," she snapped. "What truly made it work?"

"I cannot reveal my secrets," I said firmly, "or my shows would no longer be interesting."

"I suppose," she said. She sounded as if she was pouting. "I assume that your little Russian knows your secrets."

"She knows many of them, yes," I agreed.

"Would she tell me?"

"I doubt it very much, madame," I replied firmly.

"Even for promises of wealth and position?" she asked, almost purring. "How much would it take to lure a pretty thing like her away from a hideous creature like you?"

"You would have to ask her that," I said, although inside I began to worry.

"Of course."

* * *

Vasilida met me in the hallway as we left kismet. She was fuming.

"Those horrible _girls_!" she complained. "They kept trying to worm your secrets out of me. I'm sure they thought they were terribly clever and subtle. 'Have you seen his demon familiar?' 'Does magic make his face like that?'" She gave me an ironic glance. "They also asked if you wore the mask when we were in bed together."

"Oh? What did you tell them?"

"I told them that we hadn't slept together, of course," she said. "They were skeptical, and very disappointed. Apparently several of them had bet on the mask question."

"So sad that our life is too dull to give them anything to gamble about," I said dryly. She dissolved into giggles.

* * *

Over the next few months, I dived headfirst into the web of political intrigue that characterized the shah's court. Mirza Taqui Khan loathed me entirely, and resented the attention and respect that the shah gave me; rubbing his face in it gave me great pleasure.

I grew to savor my verbal spars with the khanum, and wondered why I had ever felt something ominous about her.

Once she learned of my skill with the Punjab lasso, however, she insisted that I give her a demonstration. A condemned man was brought into kismet, and I dispatched him quickly and neatly for her. She was delighted. I soon added gladiator to my list of entertainment credentials, using the lasso to kill criminals armed with swords.

"Sir, I don't know about that woman," Vasilida confided to me after a particularly spectacular feat. "She seems to enjoy your killings a bit _too_ much, if you know what I mean."

"I must confess that I do not," I replied. "Unless you mean that death should be something that is not enjoyed at all, or some other such squeamish nonsense."

"Not at all, sir," she replied. "Death doesn't bother me. My mother died when I was too young to understand what exactly was wrong with her, and I continued to live with her body for quite a while."

I looked at her, shocked, wondering if she was joking.

"Our house had always smelled, you see," she said with a shrug, "So I thought she was just asleep. She shriveled away to nothing, but she was still my mother. I sat on her lap, and told her my troubles and my dreams. She was much nicer after she died; before that, she would hit me whenever she was drunk. Eventually I saved enough money to have a doctor look at her, and he told me that she had been dead for a month."

I stared at her in shock. No wonder she had not been squeamish about dissections…or about my face. Anyone looked like me after spending a month dead.

"I just meant…well…be careful around her, all right, sir?"

"Of course," I replied, confused.


	7. Mistakes

**Warning: This chapter gets very dark. It may make you hate me.

* * *

**

Eventually, despite the distractions of court, I found a new project that completely engrossed me—building a palace. I found a beautiful spot half a mile outside of Ashraf for the construction, and taught Vasilida the basics of architecture and masonry as I went along. She did not take to it as naturally as she had to magic and languages, which sometimes led me to impatience, but she was diligent enough that I often became ashamed after an outburst. Truly, she would have done any master proud, even if she did lack my raw talent.

Of course, while I had been able to manage everything before the construction of the palace began, I soon became overly busy after it started. I had made myself indispensable to the shah to spite the vizier, and indispensable to the khanum out of self-interest; now they seemed to feel that as a great magician, I should be able to be everywhere at once. The constant demands on my time nearly drove me insane.

As well as taking up far too much of my time, the khanum was becoming overly curious. One day, she asked that I not bring Vasilida into kismet with me.

I was right in thinking that this boded no good.

* * *

"Erik, be perfectly frank with me," she ordered, stretching on her cushions behind a gauze barrier. "What do you see in that provincial little Russian girl?"

"She is my apprentice, madame," I replied, "and a highly intelligent young woman."

"But you must know what the court says about the two of you. Tell me, is it true?"

"Is what true?" I feigned ignorance, stalling for time.

"Is it true that you are lovers?" she asked.

"No, madame," I replied. "She is my student, and nothing more. You should know not to listen to court gossip."

"Don't scowl at me, you wretch!" she said peevishly. "You are sufficiently ugly already without twisting your horrible face in that fashion! In fact you are so incredibly and unbelievably ugly that it's almost…_attractive_…in a strange way."

I didn't respond. She often said things like that, for some reason. It generally made Vasilida glare at her, when she was around. The whole thing mystified me.

"So…you are not lovers, then. Well, you cannot blame me for asking; court gossip often has some truth to it. But tell me, Erik, have you _ever_ had a woman?"

I did not answer. The question hardly needed to be asked, after all; my face was all the answer that was necessary. But I knew that she would not let it go.

"Come, I demand to be answered," she insisted. "Are you a virgin?"

"I am very busy, madame," I said frostily.

"Too busy for a woman? No true man is that, my friend. Would you like a woman, Erik? I could arrange it, you know, I could arrange it very easily. And is not that what you surely desire above all things?"

I twisted my cloak between my fingers. I could imagine the whole scene—she would send a girl to my rooms, a girl who—perhaps through fear, perhaps through resignation—would be willing to give herself to me…and then…

Of course, Vasilida would be present when the woman was sent in; we did share chambers, after all. She would watch me lead this fearful young girl into my bedchamber, with disapproving eyes.

"What I desire above all things," I said coldly, "is to be left in peace to complete my commission."

I could see the khanum frown behind her veil.

"You think of nothing else these days but that palace. I am jealous of your ridiculous devotion to a pile of stone and mortar. My son demands altogether too much of your time, and I intend to tell him so. You were brought to Persia for my amusement—mine! And you _will_ amuse me, Erik…one way…or another. I forbid you to return to the site until you have devised some new form of entertainment…an amusing death, perhaps. Go now and think upon it."

Not allowed to work on my palace! I bowed stiffly to her, then spun on my heel and stormed out of kismet. Nadir and Vasilida were waiting for me to leave, and the sight of their easy companionship—his hand was on her shoulder!—did not improve my temper in the least.

"She wants amusing deaths!" I shouted to them. "By God, she shall have them!"

* * *

For the next three weeks, I refused to even teach Vasilida, working constantly on my torture chamber. It was a resounding success. Even Vasilida was nauseated by the screams of pain and horror that came from within it. I almost was; but I forced myself to imagine those within as visitors at the gypsy caravan, staring into the cage that held me and jeering. That made me hate them enough to enjoy their torment.

As a reward for my ingenuity, the khanum presented me with a hookah and hashish as well as a purse of gold. I had heard of the drug, but had not yet sampled it.

Nadir watched me nervously as I put the hookah between my lips, but I soon ceased to attend to him as the drug took effect. I tore my mask from my face, laughing hysterically; I barely noticed that he left.

"Sir?" said a feminine voice. "I finished the sketches you asked me to do." It was Vasilida, emerging from her room.

"Is something wrong?" she asked nervously as I turned unsteadily towards her, my entire being suddenly consumed by an intensely burning need as I saw her lush body, barely hidden by her scant Persian garb…

I was conscious of nothing more until I awoke hours later, lying on the floor. My head ached, and as I looked down, I noticed that my trousers were undone, and that I was covered in…

God help me, what had I done to Vasilida? I tried to jump to my feet, but managed only and unsteady stagger. Fastening my pants, and grateful that there was no blood on me (I must not have done anything _too_ violent), I retrieved my mask. Beside the door, as if someone had slid it under, I found a note written in Vasilida's familiar spidery handwriting. It was blotched with tear stains.

_Dear Erik,_

_I don't think I can stay with you any longer. Please bring my things over to Nadir's chambers when you can. I'm staying with him until I can find somewhere else to go._

_Vasilida_

I cleaned up and changed quickly, and went into her room to gather her things—books I had given her, clumsy architectural sketches she had done, clothes that she had bought. I felt numb, possibly due to the aftereffects of the drug. Never again, I swore, would I take hashish.

When I knocked at the door to Nadir's chambers, suitcase in hand, he looked at me with scorn.

"I know that you have done many bad things, Erik," he said to me coldly, "but somehow I did not expect this of you."

"Let me talk to her," I asked, unable to meet his eyes. "Please…let me apologize."

He appeared to be about to refuse, but Vasilida came up behind him and motioned for him to leave us. She settled on a couch, and I lowered myself into a chair across from her.

We sat in silence for a moment, not looking at each other.

"I am so sorry," I finally said. "I would never have done that if it hadn't been for the hashish, and I will never take it again."

"Sir, you tried to rape me."

"I know," I said, putting my hands to my face.

"When I walked into the room, you rushed up to me and pushed me into a wall," she said, mercilessly. "You bruised me in several places that I would not show in public. You pulled down your trousers and rubbed yourself against me. You would have raped me if I had not managed to prevent it." She swallowed. "I don't think that you would have done that, drug or no drug, if you had not wanted to."

"Vasilida…I know that it is no excuse…but it has been hard for me to live with you, an attractive woman…I mean…I have never…"

"Why didn't you just ask, then?" she interrupted. "If you wanted that, why didn't you ask? What did you think I was offering you when I came into your tent?"

I looked at her, shocked and unable to speak.

"You didn't realize?" she asked, confused. "I've been moving from man to man for years, trading sex for food, shelter, and an education. I expected to do the same thing with you."

"But…my face…"

"I decided that your voice more than made up for it, and…you have your own magnetism, you know." She shook her head. "Did you honestly not realize?"

"No," I replied honestly. My mind was reeling. She would have…?

"Of course," she said with a bitter laugh. "And here I thought you were different. I thought you saw me as more than just a body to have sex with; I thought you respected me, that you thought too much of me to take casual sex from me. I thought that those comments about my 'innocence' were jokes. And you just thought that I would refuse you."

"If you were willing to…do that…then why does it matter so much that I—?"

"If I was willing to sleep with you, and wasn't a virgin anyway, then why does it matter that you tried to rape me?" she snapped. "Well, _sir_, for one thing it would have been nice to have a kiss or two before you tore holes in my clothes, or at least a word. It would also have been nice if you hadn't slammed me into the wall. I know that men say that women are overly picky about that sort of thing, but some sort of preliminaries would have been appreciated. And you hurt me. I'm bruised all down my back from the wall, as well as…in other places."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, hanging my head like a chastised child.

"I trusted you, sir," she said, the anger seeming to drain out of her, leaving a weary sadness that hurt me even more. "I haven't trusted anyone for a very long time, but I trusted you. I trusted you with my life, even though I knew you were a killer. I felt safer at night, knowing that you were nearby. And you…" she buried her head in her hands.

"So sorry," I repeated. Could I think of nothing else to say? What could possibly make this right?

"Please leave," she said, pulling herself back together.

I nodded, and walked to the door. When I reached it, I paused.

"Can I…will I ever see you again?"

"Maybe, Erik. Maybe."

It was the first time that she had ever called me Erik. As I walked back to my rooms, so empty now that she was gone, I realized that I loved her, and that I had lost her forever.


	8. Alone

**Author's Note: I was expecting to lose readers with that last chapter, but I was added to more author alerts and received more reviews on that one than I ever have before! Was it because I changed the rating to M? If so, I'm sorry, but I am no good at writing sex scenes. I hope you aren't expecting one; it might happen, but I doubt that it'll be amazing.

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When I returned to my chambers, I found that the khanum had summoned me to her presence yet again. This time, she wanted to know how my first experience with hashish went.

"To be honest, madame, I found it less than enjoyable," I informed her. "Indeed, I remember little of my time under its effects."

"What did your apprentice think of it?" she asked. "Did you allow her to sample it?"

"Actually, she disapproves of drugs," I replied, "to the extent that she chose to associate herself with me no longer after I used it."

"Oh?" she asked with a smile. "Is that what you call it when a woman in torn clothing runs from your room in tears—she chose not to 'associate herself' with you?"

I winced, and she gave a tinkling little laugh.

"I suppose that I should congratulate you, dear Erik," she said. "You have just lost your virginity!"

"Madame, you are mistaken," I replied through gritted teeth.

"Really?" she asked. "Were you lying when you said that you were 'too busy' to have ever had a woman?"

"No," I insisted, "but I did not…_have_ her…last night."

"Oh, Erik, don't try to lie to me!" she said. "Anyone with eyes can see that you want her. Giving hashish to a violent and frustrated man could have only one result. Tell me, did you enjoy her? Was it everything you've ever dreamed of?"

"I do not recall the events of last night," I stated. "…Are you saying that you _intended_ for me to rape her?"

"I told you that I could arrange for you to have a woman, Erik," she laughed. "I would have chosen someone more attractive for you, of course, but I saw that you wanted the little Russian, so…"

I stood, enraged and unable to bear the sight of her any longer.

"Madame," I spat, "You have cost me an apprentice and a friend."

"Oh, Erik," she sighed, "Don't try to deny to me that you wanted her. Men and women can't simply be 'friends'. I am sorry that you didn't have the presence of mind to keep her from running off, but I can provide you with another woman easily enough. Sit back down."

I sat. What else could I do?

"Where did she go, do you know?" the khanum asked idly.

"I believe that she is staying with the daroga for the time being," I replied stiffly. "He is the only other person in Persia whom she knows."

"And how do you think she is earning her keep with him?"

"I don't know what you mean," I answered. I could hear the blood pounding through my ears.

"Come, Erik…surely she won't earn a place in _his_ household with magic tricks. How else could she repay him for his hospitality?"

"He is a kind man," I informed her through gritted teeth. "Perhaps he does not require her to earn her place there, while she is in need."

"Perhaps," she agreed with a smile. "You may leave now, if you wish. And be sure to let me know if you do want another woman."

I bowed stiffly and left.

* * *

Too many things happened that day. I could not absorb them all. Surely it had been a dream. How could it all be true—that I almost raped Vasilida, that she had been willing to lie with me and I hadn't noticed, that she left me, that I loved her, that the khanum had intended for me to rape her…

I hadn't noticed how accustomed I was to the sounds of her moving in her little side room until I was surrounded by silence. I tried to play on my violin, but remembered how she would always creep out her door and sit on the floor beside it, eyes closed in concentration. She loved music, even if she had no talent for creating it. (Her voice was wince-inducing, not merely untrained but simply ugly; on the piano she clunked out the simplest tunes only after long hours of practice.)

I could have had her. The fantasies I entertained the night that I met her—and, to be honest, nearly every night since—could have come true.

She had trusted me. She had been my friend. Perhaps she would not have done so if I had taken what she offered. Would it have been worth it? I don't know.

I had lost my chance now.

"How is she earning her keep with him?" asked the khanum in my mind.

Nadir never lost his chance. Perhaps he was even now using her breast as a pillow, reclining beside the softness of her body as they recovered from more strenuous activities…

I shook my head, violently. He would not do that to me. He was the nearest thing I had to a friend, now that I had driven Vasilida away.

"How else could she repay him for his hospitality?"

I wanted to run to Nadir's room and make sure that my imaginings weren't true…but then I would have no one. Somehow, I'd gotten used to having…friends.

Going back to loneliness would be unbearable.

* * *

A few weeks after that unfortunate incident, Nadir informed me that he had purchased an apartment near the palace in Tehran, and that his son was on his way there.

"I am not certain that I should tell you this," he said, "but Vasilida will be living there as well. She and Reza got along so well in Mazanderan."

"Of course," I said. "Would it be all right if I went to see him?"

"Vasilida said that she would not mind," he replied after a brief hesitation. "It would be cruel of me to keep you from him, when he enjoyed your company so much."

"Thank you. Will you let me know when he arrives?"

"Yes…of course. It should be within a month."

I almost asked him how Vasilida was earning her place in his household, but could not bring myself to. He would be insulted by the insinuation if it was false, and to be honest, I did not want to know if it was true.

"Would you please give this to Vasilida?" I asked instead, handing him a purse. "I…ah…seem to have damaged her clothing. This should more than cover the cost."

"You want me to give her money from you?" he asked.

"A token of my apology," I replied stiffly.

"Ah…I know that it isn't my place to say, but…you don't know very much about women, do you?"

"Not a thing," I admitted.

"She could see this the wrong way," he said, indicating the purse.

"How?" I asked, puzzled.

"It's possible that she could see it as…payment for services rendered."

"Services?" I asked, confused. "You mean, for being my apprentice?"

"No," he sighed, "I mean for…what happened that night."

"Oh. OH! I see. That was not my intent. Thank you for warning me."

"I will tell her that you offered to reimburse her for the clothes," he said. "Handing her a purse full of money, though, would be…unwise."

"What odd creatures women are," I observed.

"Every man since the beginning of time has said so," he agreed.

* * *

I went to see Reza the very day that he arrived in Tehran. Vasilida was playing with him when I arrived, a simple clapping game not overly taxing to his weakening muscles and vision.

The moment that I entered the room, he leapt from where he sat and raced unsteadily over to wrap his arms around my legs.

"I missed you forever!" he said.

Absently I patted him on the head, my attention absorbed by Vasilida. When I had seen her every day, her beauty did not strike me so immediately; I suppose that absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.

Her ice-blue eyes met my gaze for a long moment as Reza chattered about all of the excitement and adventure that he had found in his new home.

"Vasilida is to be my teacher!" he told me excitedly. "My old teacher was a boring old man with a face like a camel, and he would talk and talk and talk for EVER. She's so much more interesting, and she teaches me some magic and some science and all sorts of fun things! She said that you taught her, sir," he added worshipfully. "You must be the smartest man in the world!"

"I doubt that," I told him. "You have an excellent teacher, though. I doubt that there is a finer one in all of Persia." I still held Vasilida's gaze.

"Why don't you go and speak with your father now," she suggested. "I am sure that you have much to tell him."

"All right," he sighed. "Oh, but sir, will you show me some magic later?" He looked up at me, face full of pleading.

"Of course," I assured him, finally tearing my eyes from Vasilida's. "But go see your father now; he has missed you very much."

He left, leaving me alone with Vasilida for the first time in two months. Suddenly we could look anywhere but at each other; I examined the room, allowing my eyes to dart every once in a while to Vasilida, who appeared to be doing the same thing.

Finally, I could bear it no longer.

"Do you hate me?" I blurted out. I had intended to say nothing of the sort, to casually ask her how she was, but the words seemed to fall out of my mouth.

"Never," she replied just as quickly. "No, I do not hate you, sir. I…I promised myself, once, that I would never stay with a man who hurt me. If not for that—if not for the lives that I have seen ruined—I would have stayed with you."

"Were you telling me the truth, when you said that you would have…?" I could not finish.

"Yes," she said. "Sir, I know that you think your face is an insurmountable barrier, but I lived in a brothel from age 12 to about 16. Before that I watched my mother decompose before my eyes. Just before I met you I was a well-paid mistress. The last man I was with beat me and nearly killed me. Compared to all of that…closing my eyes isn't much of an ordeal."

I didn't know what to say in response to such bluntness. The silence stretched on and on. This time, she broke it.

"And seeing you on stage!" she cried, seemingly at random. "Your act was so…_charged_…and your voice! I was half in love with you by the time you stopped singing, and half is a lot more than I've had in a long time. And then you didn't sleep with me, but you taught me and treated me like an equal! I thought that it was the most ironic thing to ever happen, that the one man who didn't want me was the only one whom I wanted."

I stared. She had wanted…me?

"I miss being your apprentice, sir," she said, recovering her composure, "but Nadir treats me well, and his son needs care. I do not need you."

"You could be so much more than a child's teacher," I said. It was the first thing that came to my mind. I had not trained her just to have her become a nursemaid.

"You could be so much more than a rapist and murderer," she shot back. "How many have you killed for the khanum now?"

"It is none of your business," I snapped.

"You're right," she replied, falsely contrite. "Sorry, I've just gotten into the habit of telling children when they put their hands on the stove."

"What are you implying?" I snarled. Why was I acting like this when I should be on my knees, begging her to tell me that I hadn't truly lost my only chance for love?

"I'm implying that the khanum is turning you into a monster!"

"I'm already a monster!"

"I'll agree that you're on your way there, but you are not a monster! Or at least, you weren't two months ago!"

"I was a monster on the day that I was born!" I tore off my mask to make the point.

"Please," she groaned, "Not the face again. It didn't stop me from lo—liking you, and it obviously hasn't stopped the khanum from wanting you, so—"

"What do you mean, hasn't stopped the khanum from wanting me?"

"As if you can't tell that she's after you like a bitch in heat," she scoffed.

"What?"

"You honestly didn't know? My god, you're the stupidest genius I've ever met."

She sighed, and seemed to deflate somehow.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to scream at you. I know that you can't help being who you are." To my absolute astonishment, a tear ran down her cheek.

"What's wrong?" I asked, bewildered.

"I'm just lonely," she sniffed. "I'd gotten used to not being lonely, and now…"

"But you have the daroga," I protested.

"Yes, but…he isn't _you_," she said. "Look, why don't you just leave? You confuse me so much."

"I am certain," I said dryly, "That however much I confuse you, it is not half as much as you confuse me."

* * *

She was distant and polite at dinner, as if she had never before met me. I tried not to mind; after all, she had given me more than enough to think about in our earlier conversation. Any more might have made me go completely mad.

That was what I told myself, at least. But watching her and the daroga talk and laugh easily together hurt me far worse than it had back when she was my apprentice. Then, all three of us had shared something approaching camaraderie. Now, they were a pair, and I was the outsider. The fact that she made an obvious effort to include me in their conversation only hurt more.

She was so beautiful. I could tell that he noticed it as well; his eyes frequently raked across her cleavage, or focused on her full lips. _How is she earning her keep with him?_

I returned to the palace in a black mood.


	9. A Cage

**Note to whoever left an unsigned review as "theShadow": I would like to talk about the issues you bring up. I'm not sure that I understood you correctly. Could you please email me or leave a signed review?

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I returned to visit at the Khan household as often as I possibly could, despite Vasilida's consistently cool reception. After the first day, we were never alone together; Reza was our constant companion and chaperone. I made no attempt to change that.

We made a strange little school, Vasilida and Reza and I. We haphazardly taught him whatever trifles we thought would amuse him; although we never spoke of it, we both knew that he would not be around for long enough to need any practical knowledge. He was in a wheeled chair before long, unable to walk.

Nadir, Vasilida, and Reza became a family; I was the guest, the tutor, even the friend, but not truly a member. Vasilida was like a mother to the boy, and if she was not already acting the wife to Nadir, it was clear that he wanted her to.

I tried not to allow that to depress me.

One day, to amuse the two of them, I brought the Glory of the Empire, the shah's prized cat, to play with them. Reza was delighted, but Vasilida seemed concerned.

"Won't she be missed, Erik?" she asked me. "We could be in a great deal of trouble if this is discovered." She saw how happy Reza was, however, and didn't protest too much. Soon she was smiling as the boy tenderly stroked the purring cat.

"Are you quite mad!" the daroga's furious voice suddenly rang out. "Are you determined to have all of us killed for this crazy theft?"

"Nadir, please," said Vasilida. "You're frightening Reza."

"I shall return her to the shah before she is missed, I assure you," I told him. "And who shall say how she came to lose her pretty collar?"

"I don't know how you spirited her away from her guards," he said as he sank to sit on a fountain, "but I do know that if the collar goes missing you will surely be the first to be suspected. How dare you come here and involve us all in this insane crime?"

"Don't be angry, father," Reza whispered, clutching at my cloak. "I asked him to bring the cat. It was only a joke."

"You foolish child!" he snapped. "This is a joke that could cost us all our heads."

I bent down to Reza, seeing that he was about to cry. Suddenly he flung his weak arms around me.

"I don't want to stay here any more!" he sobbed. I gingerly patted his back, not quite knowing what to do. "I want to go with you," he told me. "I want to go with you now."

I gently pulled away, and picked up the cat. Whispering soothingly, Vasilida wheeled his chair from the room.

"Well?" the daroga demanded. "Was that not exactly what you wanted to hear?"

I did not reply. I had not intended that, had never expected it.

"Is this some sort of revenge, because I took Vasilida from you?" he demanded. "Is that it?"

"No," I said quietly. "I know that I alone am responsible for that."

"I should hope so."

There was a brief silence.

"Take what you like," he told me quietly. "Pillage the whole world if you must to satisfy your professional vanity. But don't take my child's heart from me just because you can. Don't shut me in that torture chamber, Erik."

I looked around the room with regret, knowing that I could not return.

"All sensible men learn to close their doors against thieves," I remarked. Hiding the cat beneath my cloak, I walked off.

* * *

I still saw the daroga often, although I no longer went to his home. He was, ostensibly, still my bodyguard. But I missed Vasilida with an ache that would not go away. From her wide-eyed curiosity to her unabashedly sensuous beauty, she had provided a counterpoint to my jaded, bloody, hideous life. I know that she was no innocent, but compared to me she was pristine. 

I couldn't forget what she had said about the khanum. Was there something…odd…in the way that she looked at me? I don't know. I have no experience with telling when women want me. The idea is laughable.

Vasilida said that she had wanted me. The best thing that had ever happened to me—probably my only chance for love, or even for physical affection—and I had ruined it. The idea kept me up at night, circled around my head like a vulture. I couldn't blame fate, or my face, or outside interference. In the end, I couldn't even say that it was the hashish; I had chosen to take it, despite hearing the rumors of it effects. I could only blame myself.

Between that horrible truth and the painful idea of Vasilida and Nadir, which the khanum had so maliciously planted, I slept even less that I was normally accustomed to. I spent a good deal of time simply pacing my room, unable to concentrate even on music.

Many times I almost indulged in opium. I had tried it a few times before the hashish incident, and found it marvelously relaxing. After all, it was nothing like hashish; where was the harm?

I thought of Vasilida's tearful face, and could not do it.

* * *

In an attempt to distract myself, I allowed myself to be caught up further in the web of intrigue that is the shah's court. Truly, it's a disgusting way to run a country; when a complete stranger such as myself can gain such power in such a short time simply by being amusing, it is a sad state of affairs. Not that I didn't exploit it. 

Irritating the Grand Vizier was a great deal of fun. He was a pompous and loathsome little man, with an inflated idea of his own importance. Only once did he truly manage to make an impact on me.

We had been disagreeing on a trifling matter of court expenses. I didn't truly care; I simply enjoyed arguing with him. He always turned quite an amusing shade of purple. Finally, he stormed out of the council chamber.

"It is insupportable," he announced loudly to the general area (which happened to include Nadir as well as the vizier's sycophants), "truly insupportable, when the opinions of a demented magician are permitted to carry weight in this fashion. How can Persia take her place in the civilized world if her affairs continue to be misdirected by the fancies of an insane monster?"

His followers stood silent, staring at me. I stood at the door to the council chamber, looking imposing (I am quite good at that). He glanced at me, then turned back to them.

"Gentlemen, it is time for us all to consider how much longer the shah will be content to be served by a creature who properly belongs in a cage."

_A cage_. It's such a simple word, to bring back such intense feelings of humiliation and helplessness.

"A cage?" I repeated.

"A cage, sir, is where you belong and where I would most gladly see you confined, like the hideous beast that you are," he snapped, wheeling around to face me. "Your pretended claim to humanity is an affront to every honest man at court!"

"Are there any honest men at court?" I asked sardonically, but inside I was still reeling with the associations from that simple word…_cage._

The smells of sawdust and animal filth and smoke. The sounds…catcalls, screams, jeers. For an instant I was a little boy again, maskless, powerless, not a person at all…just a thing, to be terrified of or to laugh at.

"Got knows there are fewer since you came!" he snapped, bringing me back to reality. "The depravity of your actions stains us all. You are neither an artist nor a scientist—you are a deranged fiend who should have been locked away from the world at birth! Your mind is as distorted as your face. I truly shudder to think what has happened to that sweet little Russian girl of yours—obviously you did something terrible to her when you tired of her! I only pray that you don't tire of this country in the same way."

He turned on his heel and stomped off, with his nattering crowd close behind him. I started to follow him, my vision obscured by a red haze, until the daroga blocked my path.

"Erik," he begged, "I beseech you to forget this."

I laughed with no real humor.

"How lightly you speak of forgetting," I spat, "you who have never known the filth and degradation of a _cage_!"

"They were only words," he assured me, "hasty, ill-considered words spoken in the heat of the moment—"

"By a man with many enemies!" I concluded. I calmed myself, reminding myself that I was no longer a powerless child; I practically ran this country.

If I wanted him punished, he would be.

"If you are his friend," I flatly told the daroga, "you had better tell that man to guard his back. The planetary alignments in his birth sign are most unfavorable." I was still thinking in the gypsy idiom, pulled back to my youth by that horrible word. Violently I flourished a tarot card that I pulled from my sleeve, and Nadir stared at the skeleton on it, aghast.

* * *

I did not end up killing the man. He had a wife, and children; I had forgotten. Exile would be good enough, I decided. I did not want to make a woman cry. 

Vasilida would not have wanted me to.

To everyone's surprise, once the exile was complete I spoke against executing the vizier. There had been no real cause for complaint against him, so he was allowed to live.

When he had survived in exile for a full month, the daroga expressed pride and happiness with my forbearance.

"He has a wife and children," I told him. "They are blameless."

"I agree, of course," he assured me. "However, I was worried that you would not see it that way."

"I do not enjoy making women cry," I informed him.

"Speaking of which…" he trailed off.

"What?" I asked.

"Vasilida still misses you," he told me. "I am not certain that I should tell you this, but I found her watching that mechanical violinist you made for Reza, and sobbing."

I stared at him, not knowing what to say.

"She is a wonderful companion, and a beautiful woman," he said, "but you need her more than I do. I wish there was some way to reconcile you, although I would be sorry to lose her."

"What exactly do you mean by 'companion'?" I asked him. The horrible idea of them together had circled in my head for so long…I had to get it out. "How are you two involved, precisely?"

"Well, we are friends, of course, as well as being involved…physically…" he said.

My ears rang.

"What?"

"Oh…I thought you'd realized…" he said. "It's simply an arrangement between friends, Erik; we are not in love, or anything like that."

I turned around and walked off, leaving him staring after me. When I reached my rooms, I locked the door, unable to face what I had learned.

_How is she earning her keep with him?_

To him it was a trivial matter, a mere "arrangement," while to me it was a joy that I would be denied for my entire life!

Better that she be with Nadir than with someone who beat her, like the man she was with before she met me. Nadir was better than someone who would only appreciate her body, and not her intelligence, her humor.

Nadir was not an ugly monster who would rape her after using drugs. It was better that she be with Nadir than with me.

She was happy with him, raising his child and sharing his bed like a dutiful little wife.

The only thing that kept me from killing him was the knowledge that she would be heartbroken. I hate to make women cry.

I love her.


	10. What dreams may come?

**Most of this is plot from Kay, although Vasilida changes things a bit. A big thank-you to all my readers; you keep me updating!

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I went through the motions of my life in a bit of a daze after that. Building the palace, influencing the shah, performing for the khanum, none of them seemed important knowing that Vasilida spent her nights in the arms of another.

Still, I managed to fulfill all of my obligations. I went through the motions of my life mechanically until one day, after a party at which I performed, I found myself with my face in my room's lovely marble tub, vomiting blood. Obviously, someone poisoned my wine; presumably the vizier felt that he could be reinstated at court if I was removed. Or perhaps it was someone else; I had made several other enemies.

I sent away my servants, but suddenly Nadir was there, staring at the tub.

"Go away," I gasped. "I don't want anyone here…particularly not you!"

He reached out to hold me steady as I heaved; I don't know why. I told him, once again, to leave.

"Stop wasting your strength," he ordered. "Do you have any idea what you may have taken?"

"No," I told him between gasps. "I've made no study…of your crude Persian toxins…I don't make a habit…of poisoning people, as a rule. It's not a form of death I find…esthetically pleasing."

"Ground glass would account for the internal bleeding," he pointed out. "There are various substances with which it could have been combined. Most of them produce a protracted and agonizing death."

"This is my reward…for letting the vizier live, I see. How long…do you think I have?" I asked.

"Those who are lucky die within forty-eight hours," he said quietly, "but I have known a strong man to linger up to ten days."

"Vasilida…" I sighed. "Send Vasilida. Please. I need her to…finish the palace. She's the only…the only one who can."

He brought me to his home. I suppose that he sent word ahead, because Vasilida was there to meet us at the door; or perhaps she met him that way every night, I don't know.

I do know that she gasped when she saw me, looking concerned and frightened, and rushed to put an arm around my waist to support me. I would have savored the feeling had my pain been less intense.

She didn't want to go over the plans for the palace; she wanted me to rest. Nadir quietly explained to her that I was sure to die either way, and she wept. She wept for me—not because of my actions, but for me.

I wondered if I was delirious.

I laid out the plans, and painstakingly explained every detail to her. She refused to leave while I lived, but agreed to go to Mazanderan to oversee the construction as soon as I died.

When I was sure that she understood every point of my instructions, I allowed myself to topple from the chair in which I had been sitting. I heard her call for Nadir as I blacked out.

* * *

I was aware of little for the next few days. Vague memories suggest themselves to me; I am fairly certain that I heard Reza crying, asking me to get better so that I could fix the tiny fiddler I made for him. I know that I heard Vasilida crying. 

I think that I felt her kiss my hands, and that I heard her say that she loved me, but surely I imagined it.

"As soon as I heard that you were upset by me and Nadir, I broke it off," she told me in my dream. "I was trying to refill the hole that leaving you made in me. He understood. He's a good man…but he's not you. God, Erik, you have to get better. You have to. I love you."

My dreams are so much better than the waking world…at least some of the time. At other times, I wandered through my memories, lingering on my losses.

Sasha, the dog who was more of a mother to me than my own.

Mother, who could not love me, although I think she tried.

Luciana, who thought she loved me until seeing my face sent her to her death.

Giovanni, who taught me all that I know…he was Luciana's father.

Vasilida.

In the end, I decided that I would make the effort and live. Reza needed me, and Vasilida…well, at the very least, my death would make her sad.

Keeping her happy was enough of a reason to live.

* * *

I stayed with that household for three months after I recovered. Vasilida wept with joy and threw her arms around me when I regained consciousness; that alone was more than enough to justify my choice to survive. We relocated back to Mazanderan so that I could continue work on the palace; the foreman had made a few mistakes in my absence, but I managed to right them. 

As I regained my strength, though, Reza lost his. I realized within a few weeks that he could not last long. Unwilling to abandon him, I bribed the shah's messengers to pretend that they had never found me.

I did not know how best to break the news to Nadir, so I simply told him. He had nursed me through my ordeal, and that was more than enough to make me forgive his affair with Vasilida. She was never truly mine, after all, so he did not steal her.

"Two months?" he cried, disbelieving. "Erik, surely you are mistaken, he must have longer than that—he must!"

"Nadir," I said gently, ignoring his denial, "the child does not deserve to suffer all that will very soon lie ahead of him."

"What are you telling me?" he asked, tonelessly.

"I am telling you nothing—merely asking you to remember that death can come in many shades. Some are harsh and infinitely painful to look upon; others can be as peaceful and beautiful as the setting sun. I am an artist, and many colors lie upon my palette. Let me paint him a rainbow, and give you the means to decide where it ends."

He let me paint that rainbow.

For two months, I poured all of my skill into making that child happy. Vasilida helped me; she said nothing about anything I thought I had heard while I was unconscious, assuring me of the fact that I had dreamed it. Still, despite the tragedy of Reza's illness, I couldn't help but be happy. It was just like having her as my apprentice again.

Her empathy and mothering touch, combined with my skill at manipulating emotions, allowed us to give Reza the best two months of his life. Finally, though, Nadir sought me out.

I could tell, as soon as I saw him, that he had recognized the inevitability of Reza's death. I laced a glass of sherbet with a gentle poison, and handed it to him.

"It will be quick," I assured him, "and he will feel nothing."

He stared at the glass, making no move to take it.

"No," he said, his voice trembling with fear. "I can't do this. I will let nature take her course after all."

"Nature is a cruel and unfeeling goddess," I told him steadily. "Will you abandon your child into her merciless hands?"

"I am his father!" he cried, covering his face with his hands and turning away from me. "How can you know, how can you understand, what it means to take life from your own child?"

I saw what I had to do.

"This is no longer your burden," I told him. "_Wait for me here._"

I used my voice to take his will, hoping that he could forgive me.

* * *

Gently, I held the glass to the lips of the bedridden child. He swallowed happily—it was his favorite flavor of sherbet—then lay back with a sigh. 

To my surprise, Nadir suddenly burst into the room.

"There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his Prophet," he whispered hoarsely—the rites of the dying in his religion.

I had not realized until then that some forces could overcome my voice. Apparently a combination of religious fervor and paternal love could do so.

The boy was already dead when I laid him in Nadir's arms.

* * *

I was not able to attend the funeral. 

The morning after Reza's death, an armed guard came to take me back to Tehran. I could probably have fought them off, but I wanted to get out of that house of mourning. Nadir and Vasilida could comfort each other much better than I could, I was sure.

It seemed, for a while, that I had been forgiven for my desertion. The shah made no mention of it; the khanum made a few sarcastic comments, but that was all. I should have known that they were planning something.


	11. Temptations

**Author's Note: Next week, this story will not be updated. Instead, I will post a oneshot crossover between Phantom of the Opera and the Nutcracker Ballet in honor of Christmas. It has nothing to do with this story, but I'd appreciate getting a few reviews; I think it's one of the better things I've written.**

**And now, back to our previously scheduled fic.

* * *

**

They made Nadir bring the girl to me, and he shakily read a speech about how I was being rewarded for my services…rewarded with a wife.

She was beautiful, slender and dark, with shining black hair, and she trembled like a rabbit before a fox.

Thoughts of Vasilida lurked in the back of my mind, but I pushed them away. She had found comfort elsewhere; certainly I could do so as well. If only the girl would not stare at me with such terror from behind her veil.

I reached out and pulled the veil off. She stared up at me, obviously petrified by fear.

"How old are you?" I demanded.

"Fifteen, master," she whispered. So young…how could I do such a thing as this?

"Have they told you what is expected of you?" I asked. A silly question for a harem girl, I suppose.

"Yes."

"Very well. I have seen what lies behind your veil, my dear…now you shall be accorded a reciprocal honor. Come forward and remove my mask."

She stared at me, horrified. Presumably she had seen me, maskless, on my visits to the khanum.

"To refuse me now is to refuse the shah himself," I reminded her. "If you resist I shall take you by force and then return you to execution at his hands. But only come to me willingly for this one night and I swear you shall go free at dawn. One night buys you the rest of your life and the means to spend it in honorable comfort. And perhaps, after all, that night will not be so terrible as you fear…"

I bent down, offering her my hand. She wept, hands together in a gesture of supplication.

"You would rather die than lie with me?" I asked, disbelieving. "You would truly rather die?"

She collapsed, sobbing, clutching at her arms. I could not do this. I could not rape a hysterical fifteen-year-old. But if she stayed here…if she stayed here, I would do it anyway.

"Take the child away," I ordered. The daroga, with a shocked look, rushed over.

"Apparently you have not understood the custom, Erik," he whispered urgently. "The girl is the shah's gift, a personal token of his esteem. To return her in this fashion would be counted an unforgivable breach of etiquette—an insult that would never be forgiven."

"Take her away," I repeated. "Tell the shah I have no use for nubile girls. Tell him I am…_incapable_…of using such a gift. Damn you, tell him whatever is necessary to ensure that she receives no punishment."

He made a sign, and the eunuch dragged the still-hysterical girl from the room. I poured myself some arrak, trembling but proud. I am not such a monster after all; despite everything, despite the hashish and the harem and all the efforts of the khanum, I am not truly a rapist.

At the same time, I felt more monstrous than ever. She wanted to die rather than sleep with me.

"You had better go," I told Nadir.

"I would like to talk to you first," he said.

"Yes," I sighed, "that is a right I cannot deny you—but I would be grateful for a few minutes of privacy now…just a few minutes alone…you understand?"

He nodded, and turned to leave. At the door, he paused.

"Erik…Vasilida and I have not...we haven't slept together since she found out that the idea of it upset you. I thought you might like to know that."

I turned to him, silently. Why would that be the case?

"You are a good man, Erik," he told me. Before I had a chance to argue, he left.

* * *

The khanum had the girl put into the torture chamber—_my _torture chamber—the next day. I could not watch, and I'm sure that my departure was unspeakably rude.

With that poor little girl's death, I suddenly lost my taste for killing. I could no longer conjure up images of those who had harmed me in the place of my victims; now, I saw her instead. Worse yet, sometimes I saw Vasilida. From what she had told me of her life, it was not much different from that of a harem girl. What could that poor fifteen-year-old have been, if she had managed to escape?

Perhaps a magician's apprentice.

Nadir warned me that retribution for my rudeness was a sure thing, and urged me to leave Persia, but I chose to ignore him. I had to finish the palace; otherwise, what would I have to show for my time in Persia? Countless deaths, and nothing more. Nothing.

I didn't ask him about Vasilida. I did not know why he had chosen to bring it up at that time; perhaps only to assure me that I was not the only one who would sleep alone that night.

I thought often of the time while I was sick, and my hallucinations of Vasilida. She had told me, in that dream, that she wasn't sleeping with Nadir any more; apparently that was true. Could the rest of it have been true?

It must have been a hallucination. How could she have said that she loved me?

* * *

My next visit with the khanum was less than cordial.

"You are so squeamish after all, my Angel of Death!" she crowed. "You were quick enough to violate your little Russian; why not that girl?"

"Madame, I was drugged," I stated through gritted teeth.

"Oh yes…silly me. How can I have forgotten? That makes it all better, of course. I don't understand why the silly thing left you."

I refused to answer. She leaned forward, her face almost touching the gauzy barrier that separated us.

"If you would like her back, you know, I can make it happen. You need only say the word, and she will be confined to your rooms. I won't even tell her that you asked me for that; you may convince her that I acted on my own, that you had nothing to do with it, if you'd like. I know she's fond of you; surely a clever fellow such as yourself can figure out a way to pry apart those legs without making her hate you, if that's so important to you."

I was nearly breathless with the picture she painted. Vasilida, taken away from the daroga and given to me…

She would be terribly unhappy, confined to my chambers. Even when she lived with me, she loved to go to the markets, or simply wander through the gardens.

"No, thank you," I told her. "I promise you, I will let you know if I want your assistance in procuring a female. Until then, kindly keep your offers to yourself."

"Well, Erik," she said, "If you don't want her, I am certain that someone does. Perhaps I will have her join my ladies here. She could entertain us with the magic you taught her, so that I don't have to call on you all the time."

"No!" I said, rather too quickly. "No. I do not think that is a good idea."

It was bad enough that she had slept with Nadir; at least he was a decent man, and treated her well. The thought of Vasilida as just another of the shah's many concubines…

"Very well," the khanum replied. "I will consider her under your protection. But know this; you will not always be here. The day you leave Persia will be the day that Vasilida joins our number."

"I do not plan to leave any time soon," I told her. Her smile was serpentine.

"I trust not."

After that, I was deaf to the daroga's suggestions that I leave the country before its rulers tired of me. I did not want to tell Vasilida that my obvious affection for her had put her in danger, and I would not risk condemning her to that life.

Still, I knew that the khanum's words were true. I would not remain in Persia forever. Somehow, I would have to get Vasilida to come with me when I left. I would have to tear her away from her happy life with Nadir, whether she was still sleeping with him or not.

Apparently, the khanum's dearest wish was to make Vasilida hate me.

God only knows why she didn't already.

"_Do you hate me?"_

"_Never."_

That was what she said, the first time that I visited her at the Khan household. "Never." She would never hate me.

I wished that I could believe that.

I did not tell her what the khanum had said.


	12. Escape

It took longer than it should have, but at last the palace was completed to the shah's specifications. He did not simply desire beauty; he wanted secrets, trap doors, the ability to hear every word whispered within the walls. Despite all of his requirements and alterations, I managed to make it beautiful. Giovanni would have been proud, I think.

Shortly before dawn on the morning after I finally made the last alteration he required, the daroga entered my room unannounced.

"It is customary to knock first before entering," I told him, feeling my stomach sink. Was he being forced to arrest me? "What the devil are you doing here at this hour? I did not invite you."

"This is not a social visit," he said loudly. "I come here in my official capacity, as chief of police in this region, to arrest you for treason."

I laughed sadly to myself. I did not want to have to kill him, but it appeared that I was not to be given a choice. He cut me off with a gesture.

"We don't have much time," he whispered. "Find whatever you have of portable value and give it to me quickly."

He was still my friend, then, after all. Either that or he intended to keep some of my wealth when he delivered me to the shah. Not that I minded particularly; he could probably make better use of it than I. Quickly touching a spring concealed within the wall revealed my hidden trove.

"I have been working all night on the shah's personal commission," I announced loudly enough for the listeners outside to hear. "You find me about to bathe."

"You will be permitted a few minutes in which to dress," the daroga assured me, opening the casket of treasure that I handed to him. His eyes widened, and he looked at me accusingly.

"You know my weakness for beautiful things," I told him quietly, with a shrug. That reminded me—Vasilida. Had she already been taken by the khanum, or was that to wait until I after my arrest was complete?

"Give me your hands," the daroga muttered. "They will expect to see you bound."

I glared at him.

"Give me your hands," he repeated. "Erik—it is the only way."

I looked at the rope with loathing, symbol of captivity and powerlessness. But he was right; it was the only way to save, not only me, but Vasilida. I allowed him to bind my wrists.

"How did you come by such scars?" he asked me, seeing the lines that criss-crossed my lower arms. "Was it that window in Tehran?"

"I broke a mirror once," I told him absently, still fighting the urge to free myself of these bounds. "A well-meaning and very misguided lady bound up my wrists and saved my life."

"Your mother?"

"My mother would have left me to bleed to death," I told him, wondering if he intended, between the bindings and the questions, to force me to relive my entire childhood. "And who is to say she would not have been right in that?"

He shivered, and finished fastening the ropes.

"I assume that you have some sort of plan for smuggling me away from the city," I told him. "You and Vasilida must come as well."

"No time to discuss it now," he told me, opening the door. Several men began to search the room—by which I mean, tear it apart—as the two of us left.

We rode away from the palace in silence. When we were halfway to the prison, he sent the rest of his men ahead to tell them that we were on our way. As soon as they were out of sight, he cut the ropes that secured my hands, and handed me the bags of treasure that he had removed from my rooms.

"Go," he said. "Follow the coastal road and get out of Persia while you still can. All I can give you is a few hours' start before the shah's men will begin to search for you."

"You and Vasilida must come as well, or leave some other way," I told him urgently. "The khanum has promised me that as soon as I am out of Persia—whether through death, or simply because I have left—she will force Vasilida to join the harem. I cannot allow that to happen to her; and suspicion will surely fall on you, once we are gone."

"I will tell her what you have said, and help her to leave," he told me. "But I will not leave. I shall tell them that you used your magical skills to free yourself and attacked me when I was unprepared."

"You will be punished," I told him. "Surely you can see that the shah will know what has happened."

"That is my concern," he told me. "I will not leave the land of my ancestors—and of my son. I am doing all of this because he would have wished you to live."

"You will never be reconciled, will you?" I asked him. "You will never forgive."

The one death that I regret causing was the only one that I had caused with benevolent motives. The irony would be delightful, had it happened to someone else.

"There is nothing to forgive," he insisted. "You gave him a beautiful, painless death…I am reconciled and my soul is at peace. It is time to consider your soul now, Erik."

"Your faith teaches that infidels have no souls, no appointed place in paradise," I reminded him impatiently.

"Your conscience, then," he replied. "I think you have a conscience, whatever you may like to believe—and tonight I appoint myself as its keeper. Wherever you go and whatever you do in the future, you may consider yourself answerable to me. That is the price you must pay in return for your life. There must be no more murders."

"Oh, really," I scoffed, "And what is to stop me from breaking this ridiculous bargain of yours whenever I choose?"

"I do not believe you would break your word to me, Erik." He was right, damn him.

"What makes you think I'm going to _give_ my word, let alone keep it?"

"I'm not offering you a choice," he informed me. "This is an ultimatum. If I don't hear from you now what I wish to hear, I shall simply deliver you for execution after all, you have _my_ word on that! And remember, my men are not yet too far away to hear a pistol shot."

"What exactly are you asking me to swear?" I asked, worried. Not for my own safety, of course, but for his; if he attempted to carry out his duties as police chief after all, I might have to kill him.

"I'm not a sentimental fool," he sighed. "I know what your life has been—and I know that there will inevitably be occasions when you have no alternative but to strike first to save yourself. But there is a world of difference between killing in self-defense and killing for pleasure. All I am asking is that you acknowledge that difference and abide by my request. Now—will you give me your word?"

I hesitated, but after a moment I held out my hand to him. He reached out to meet it without hesitation.

"Follow the coastline and keep to the undergrowth," he told me. "It's a dangerous path—you must beware of quicksand and countless other hazards—but you dare not take an inland road. By tomorrow the shah's men will be searching all known routes that lead out of the country."

"If you or Vasilida wish to join up with me elsewhere, I shall be in Istanbul…shall we say, three months? In exactly three months, at midnight, I will be at the foot of Leander's Tower—the Maiden's Tower. If either of you wish to join me, be there. And be sure that you get Vasilida out of the country, whether she wishes to join me or not. I do not think that she would enjoy being in the harem."

"She will probably join you," he assured me.

"We shall see." I nodded to him, then returned to him one of the bags of jewels.

"I cannot accept this," he said sharply. "I know very well that it is stolen."

"Not all of it," I told him. "Some of it is for Vasilida; she will need it, to get out of the country. I can always make more, but I would prefer it if she was not forced to return to her former profession. With that, she can set herself up quite comfortably somewhere. Are you certain that you will leave with her? They are sure to throw you in prison at the very least."

"I have made plans," he insisted. "The body of a Babi dissident will be left upon the Caspian shore, and dressed in your mask and cloak, if you will give them to me. By the time it is found, scavengers will have rendered it identifiable by no other means. And should my estate be forfeited for negligence…" He hefted the bag. "I can perhaps make myself believe that half of what is in here was earned legitimately. I will give Vasilida the other half."

I laughed, and removed my mask and cloak without hesitation. He took them, and did not flinch away from my face.

"Thank you, my friend," he said quietly.

"Take care of yourself, Nadir," I told him, touched by the word. "Take very great care…your tiresome health has become very dear to me."

He smiled, but did not speak. There were no more words to be said.

I rode off, thinking what I bleak future I would have if neither of them appeared at Leander's Tower in three months.


	13. Waiting

It was a dull and lonely three months. I stayed out of sight as much as possible; in addition to those who are always more than happy to offer violence to a man in a mask, I now had to fear forces from the shah. I did not believe that he would pursue me beyond his own borders, but one can never tell; after all, he sent Nadir all the way to Russia after me.

If they had not managed to escape, Nadir would be dead or imprisoned, and Vasilida would be at the mercy of the shah and the khanum. She would survive it, of course, and might even escape eventually, but until then she would be mad with boredom. I hated to think of her thirst for learning blocked by the walls of kismet almost as much as I hated to picture her being forced to lie with the shah.

What would they do if they did escape? Would they be willing to travel all the way to Istanbul merely to meet up with me? Why should they? I had chosen it almost at random, as a central location from which we could journey either to Europe, back into the Middle East and on to Asia, or south to Africa if we chose. But if they wanted to stay in a place familiar to Nadir, or go back to Vasilida's mother country, Istanbul would be ridiculously out of the way.

I concentrated on mourning the loss of my power and influence with the shah, using that lesser sorrow to block out the thought that I had lost my only friends.

Although traveling by sea would probably have been faster, it is difficult to escape from a ship if some of your fellow-passengers turn out to be agents of the shah in disguise. For the most part, I traveled on foot.

Istanbul is a colorful city, filled with people from all parts of the world. I reached it around dusk, two and a half tedious months after I set out from Tehran. I wore a cloak with the hood low over my face, covering up the mask. Layers upon layers; a suspicious hood covering a more suspicious mask covering a fearful face…and beneath that, somewhere, me.

So few people bother to look past the top layer or two. Whenever someone does, it seems that I bring them nothing but grief.

I found lodgings in the part of town where few questions are asked, and reserved the room until the day after I was to meet the others at the tower. It was a far cry from my opulent rooms at the palace, but better than sleeping on the hard ground as I had many times along my journey.

My ill-gotten gains from Persia would last me a while, so I had no need to seek employment. I spent most of my time in my room, writing music or drawing buildings. Every night, from 11 to 1, I haunted the base of Leander's Tower. There are stories about that tower, and all of them have to do with death; people who passed gave me fearful looks, and rushed away.

The agreed-on night came closer. Of course, I did not truly expect them to be early; but what if they lost track of time? It couldn't hurt to keep watch. After all, I had nothing better to do.

Finally, it was exactly three months after I said farewell to Nadir. I arrived at the tower a little after 10 pm, unable to wait any longer.

The minutes ticked by like years. I was in an agony of doubt. Ten-thirty went by, then eleven. Eleven-thirty.

Twelve.

Still I saw no one.

Twelve-thirty.

Of course I saw no one. Why would they have come? Who would travel miles and miles just to be with me? No one.

Suddenly, I heard frantic footsteps. Someone was sprinting towards the tower.

"Erik!" the runner called, between pants. "Are…you…here?"

"Vasilida!" I cried, stepping from the shadows.

"So sorry…I'm late. Would've been here…and hour ago…got mugged."

"Mugged!"

"Had to give them…most of what I had. Nadir gave me…half of what you gave him. Bastards would've…raped me, too…but I told them I had a terrible VD."

"They listened?"

"I've learned a thing or two…about being scary…from you, sir. I described how their…parts would rot and fall off…pretty graphic. Told them it'd happened to my husband. They were happy enough with the money."

Suddenly, she launched herself at me and wrapped her arms around me.

"I'm so glad you're all right, sir!"

Hesitantly, I reached out to pat her back.

"I am happy to see you safe as well. I hope that your escape was not too difficult?"

"Not too bad. Nadir refused to leave, though. I'm worried about him."

"As am I," I sighed, "but there is little that we can do for him now."

"I know, sir," she said. "Where are you staying?"

"Oh, I have a room at a rotten little tavern."

"I just got here today; I don't have anywhere. Would you mind if I stayed with you?"

"Ah…there is only one bed…"

"I don't mind sharing if you don't, sir. I truly have nowhere else to go."

As we walked back to the little inn, I pinched myself on the arm. Surely I was dreaming.

* * *

It wasn't the world's largest bed, but there was room for the two of us, and I was able to leave a bit of space by scooting over to the edge. She had insisted that I lie down, saying that she didn't want me to lose any sleep because of her. I was certain that I could not sleep with her lying beside me, but I tried.

To my surprise, I did manage to sleep for a while. Sleep had been scarce recently, since I had spent my nights wondering if anyone would meet me at the tower.

I woke at dawn, and suddenly remembered that I had agreed to vacate the room by today. We had to be gone within an hour.

"Vasilida," I whispered, reaching over to shake her shoulder gently. "Vasilida, wake up."

"Can't it wait?" she asked, with a sleepy little moan that made my whole body tense up. I reminded myself that now was not an appropriate time for that sort of thing, and forcibly composed myself.

"No, I'm afraid that it's urgent."

"Aw, fine," she said, and rolled over so that she was splayed across me. To my absolute shock, she began to rub her pelvis against me, and reached up to unbutton her dress.

I wanted to grab her and pull her towards me, to explore every inch of her body. At the same time I wanted to push away this unexpected contact, this impossible closeness. Finally, I managed to croak out a sentence.

"Wh…What are you doing?"

Her eyes popped open.

"Oh! Erik!" She jumped out of the bed, clutching at her opened bodice. "I…I thought I was…I thought you were…I'm so sorry!"

"That's…" I coughed. "That's quite all right. Old habits die hard, I suppose." She looked at the floor, and I winced when I realized how that sounded. "But right now, we need to pack up. I agreed to leave this room today."

"Oh," she said, blushing fiercely. I noticed that I was staring, and quickly turned around to gather my belongings.

Having been preoccupied with my love for her and her affection for me, I had forgotten the negative side of living with Vasilida—the constant state of unsatisfied lust. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but proximity does wonders for the libido.

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, that's the most erotic scene I've ever tried to write. How did I do? Feedback will be greatly appreciated.**


	14. A Kiss

**My dear readers: I aplogize profusely for the long delay. I had a sudden and intense case of writer's block. It seems to be gone now, but I can't promise anything; updates may become less regular. Please bear with me, and as always, read and review!

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We headed out of the room in embarrassed silence, not looking at each other. When I did risk a glance, I thought that I saw tears shimmering in her eyes.

Wandering aimlessly through the streets, we ended up across the strait from the Maiden's Tower. After we had looked up at it for a moment—and after the silence became unbearably intense—Vasilida spoke.

"I wonder why they call it the Maiden's Tower," she said.

"There are a few different stories," I told her, grateful to be able to fall back into my old role as teacher. "Some say that a sultan was told that his daughter would be bitten by a deadly snake on her eighteenth birthday. He put her into the tower to keep her safe—"

"But of course, a snake got it," Vasilida finished. "All stories about fate seem to end that way."

"Indeed; I suppose that is the point. At any rate, she died a maiden, inspiring the tower's name. It is also known as Leander's Tower, for another story dating back to the time of the Greeks. Hero, a priestess of Aphrodite, lived in the tower. She was wooed by Leander, who lived across the strait. He convinced her to become his lover by arguing that Aphrodite would scorn the worship of a virgin."

Vasilida chuckled.

"He swam across the strait every night, guided by a light she lit in the tower. One winter's night, however, the light blew out while he was swimming. Some say that Hero was forcibly prevented from relighting it, others that she merely neglected to. In any case, Leander drowned, and Hero threw herself from the tower in her grief."

"And yet it isn't called Hero's Tower," Vasilida pointed out.

"No, it is not," I agreed.

We stood in silence as before, but this silence had a different quality to it…a more companionable feel. It was not that we were too ashamed to speak, merely that we did not wish to.

"Well," Vasilida eventually sighed, "Where are we going from here?"

"I…well, to be honest, I did not plan that far ahead," I admitted.

"I have always wanted to see Europe," she ventured. "And besides, I only speak Russian, Farsi, and French. We can't go back to Persia and I would hate to return to Russia, so…"

"France it is," I said. At long last, and after many years of voluntary exile, I was returning home.

* * *

Well, it was not really as dramatic as all that.

France was our eventual destination, but Vasilida and I decided to take our time in getting there. Why not? We had money—Nadir had only kept half of what I gave him, so three-fourths of my original stash made it out of Persia with me—and nothing urgent to do. Vasilida confided to me that one of her (many) paramours had been a historian of sorts, one who specialized in the ancient times, the reign of Rome and that of Athens. She longed to see Athens, Sparta, and Thebes, to visit the Macedonian birthplace of Alexander; she dreamed of walking through the streets of Rome, the streets where Caesar had walked and Nero had fiddled.

Her eloquent enthusiasm was contagious, and I found to my surprise that I also longed to commune with the gods of antiquity, to see again the Parthenon and the Coliseum.

We traveled by land—Vasilida had no tolerance for shipboard movement—and mostly at night, to better suit my tastes. Wherever we went there were whispers and pointing fingers, but why should I care when I had a beautiful girl on my arm, hanging on my every word as I told her of the history that was all around us?

Macedonia, Athens, and Sparta were food and drink to her; she devoured knowledge like a starving child. I suppose that I eagerly sought her affection in the same way.

We crossed the narrow sea between Greece and Italy, despite Vasilida's seasickness. I stood with her at the rail of the ship, gingerly patting her back in an attempt to be comfortable. Once the sun came up and the deck grew more crowded, she swatted me away.

"Your comfort is as important as mine," she growled, "And if I have to deal with idiots staring at you as well as nausea, I may just jump over the side." She leaned over for another dry heave.

"I never realized that it bothered you," I said. The terrible idea occurred to me that she was ashamed, ashamed to be seen with me despite the brave front she put on.

"No, I just hate to see them upset you," she said. "I know it does."

"All right," I said, feeling numb. I slipped back into the shadows, though I stayed where I could keep an eye on her. Why would my discomfort upset her? Far more likely that the stares of those around us filled her with shame, and she was too kind to say anything.

A tall, olive-skinned man approached her and asked her (in Greek) if she was all right. She nodded, and asked if he spoke Farsi. He did.

I saw the way he leaned close to her with concern (or the appearance of it), the confident way in which he stroked her hair, so different from the fearful way in which I touched her, when I dared.

Others walked by on the deck without a second glance. They seemed a perfect couple—he, tall, dark and handsome, she, beautifully blonde with a fragility brought on by her seasickness.

I did not like to see her so fragile, but I knew that women of such delicacy were highly sought after by others.

Why was she with me? She was Aphrodite, and I…I was Hephaestus, the brilliant and disfigured craftsman, tied to her only by chance.

Not that Vasilida was my wife, of course.

The man had his arm solicitously around her shoulders now. I could watch no longer, and retreated to my cabin until we landed.

* * *

We rented adjoining rooms in a little inn in Brindisi, a city near the coast. As I sat, listening to the soft sounds of her preparing for bed, a novel though occurred to me.

Why not simply ask her why she was with me?

I had never asked her why she met me in Istanbul; at the time, I had been too grateful to do so.

What if posing the question made her realize that there were better, more attractive, less embarrassing people for her to tour Europe with?

Well, at least I would not wonder any longer.

Forcing myself to move before I lost my nerve, I strode over to her door and gave it three decisive knocks.

"Un minuto!" she called. Her Italian accent was atrocious, carrying both a strong hint of her native Russian and a tendency towards French, the first Romance language she had learned. Oh well; we would not stay in Italy for too long.

When she came to the door, she was wearing a light robe over a white nightgown. Her bare feet stuck out from beneath the hem, simultaneously cute and suggestive…indicating that perhaps the rest of her was bare beneath the nightgown as well.

"Did you need something, sir?" she asked, and I shook off such thoughts.

"I wanted to talk to you," I confessed, "if it would be convenient. Or would you prefer to rest? I know that sea travel is not a restful experience for you…"

"No, it's fine," she said, puzzled. "Come in."

She took a seat on her bed, and gestured for me to take the chair that sat in the corner.

"What's on your mind?" she asked.

I looked down, unable suddenly to put my feeling into words.

"Sir?" She sounded worried. "Are you all right?"

"I…I am fine." I cleared my throat. "Vasilida, why are you here?"

"What?" she asked. "Because I want to see Rome, of course, you know that."

"Yes," I said, "But why are you here…with me?"

"I don't understand."

I looked up at her. She honestly did seem bewildered.

"Why wouldn't I be with you?" she asked.

"There are tour guides who do not insist on night travel," I told her, staring down at my abnormally elongated hands. "There are tour guides who will not attract stares in crowded city streets…tour guides who have not done all of the horrible things that I have done, to you as well as to others."

"Oh, Erik," she said, with a little laugh. I looked back up at her quickly; she rarely called me by name. "You worry too much."

That patronizing laugh grated on my nerves somehow. Did she not remember who I was? What I had done? I ripped my mask off.

"This is me," I hissed. I jumped to my feet, looming over her. "Why are you with THIS? Why do you trust me to sleep in the room next to yours?"

She stood up, all traces of laughter gone. Her face was grave, serious, but not afraid in the slightest.

"I trust you," she told me, putting her hands on my shoulders. "I trust you and I respect you and…"

Rather than finishing the sentence, she leaned forward, closed her eyes, and pressed her lips gently against mine.

I stood, paralyzed, for what felt like an eternity. I wish that it had been. When she backed away, her eyes were full of doubt…and regret, I was sure. I turned around wordlessly and left the room, closing the door gently behind me.


	15. The Letter

**My dear readers: The last few chapters were squeezed past the edges of writer's block. I know where this story will end up, and I knew where I was, but I lost all sense of the progression from one to the other.**

**All that I can say in my defense is that I was distracted by a rewarding and functioning relationship; that made it a bit difficult to write from Erik's perspective. Now that the cause of this trouble has returned to college many states away, I can write at full capacity again. This chapter may be short, but rest assured, there is more to come. I have my muse back.

* * *

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I spent the night staring up at the ceiling, deep in thought.

For a brief time I considered the notion that she had kissed me because she had wanted to, out of affection or loneliness or even love. That notion I soon discarded as a dangerous fantasy.

By morning, I felt certain that I had divined her true feelings. Vasilida still carried some habits ingrained into her by her years as a "lady of the evening," as was proved by that memorable morning back in Istanbul. Obviously, she felt that she owed me for teaching her, and was used to paying for such favors carnally.

She had kissed me out of a sense of obligation, no more.

I toyed with the notion of accepting her wordless offer, of course. Every day I wanted her more; every time I saw her I wished to feel her as well, to crush her to me and learn from her of all that I had missed for so many years.

But I loved her more than I wanted her. She should not have to pay for anyone's friendship with her body. I could not ask that of her, and could not accept it when she offered.

With a heavy heart, but a clear conscience, I finally rose from my bed. It was nearly midmorning; her seasickness must have greatly tired her, for usually she was awake by this hour. Perhaps she was simply embarrassed to face me after the events of the preceding evening.

I left my room and knocked on her door; it had not been closed all the way, and swung open under my hand.

All of her belongings were gone. On the bed, there sat enough money to cover the cost of the room, and a note. I picked it up with trembling hands.

_Dear Erik,_

_I apologize for having been such a nuisance. You do not need to feel indebted to me for what happened in Persia; the khanum's anger towards me was not your fault. If it wasn't for you, I would never have seen so many wonderful things. I willfully misunderstood your intentions, forcing myself to believe that you were in love with me. My only defense is that I am in love with you, and such feelings famously cause blindness._

_I am certain that my feelings were painfully obvious to you, and you were too polite to disabuse me of my delusions. So that I cause you no further discomfort, I am heading to Venice with Signore diGiorno, whom I met on the boat. You and I weren't planning on going there, so I'll be out of your way._

_You have been a very dear friend to me._

_Vasilida_

I read the note. Then, slowly, I read it again. I felt a smile creep across my face, and believe it or not, I began to laugh.

I chuckled, I guffawed, I nearly roared with laughter. What delicious irony! What beautiful news!

She loved me!

Of course, her absence was a setback, but a temporary one. I would find her if I had to search Venice from canal to attic. She would be mine! She wanted to be mine!

Signore diGiorno was a minor setback as well, but of course I knew that Vasilida used such men as a means of transportation and income, little else. I'd kill him if I had to, and she would probably have little objection.

Perhaps I would even catch up to them on the road to Venice! Surely she would not consent to go by ship, not all the way up the coast of Italy. I quickly settled the bill for our rooms, then paid an extortionate amount for a horse. Not that I minded; the greatest treasure I had ever seen was almost in my possession.

* * *

Though it went against my usual habits, I traveled by day, and along the main roads. Otherwise, I could pass Vasilida and her latest paramour in the dark. Oddly enough, the stares seemed to grow fewer and friendlier as I traveled north. Eventually, I realized that it was the season of Carnival—the season of masks! I would fit in seamlessly once I reached Venice.

Perhaps I could even attempt to sweep Vasilida off her feet incognito. A ridiculous notion, of course; I am a stranger to romance, and Vasilida is surely immune to it. Still…it was not an unpleasant daydream.

I still had not found any sign of Vasilida or her Signor diGiorno by the time I reached Venice. Perhaps, despite my precautions, I had passed them; they surely had not traveled with such breakneck speed as I had, I reasoned.

Venice was beautiful, and filled with masks. I quickly purchased an ornate one; my usual mask, a blank black face, stood out here in its very plainness.

The mask I chose was skeletal in appearance, and blindingly white. It left my lower lip and chin exposed, but the contrast between mouth and mask was great enough that nothing looked amiss.

Now that I was here and suitably disguised, how was I to find Vasilida? The masks would make it easier for me to move about with anonymity, but they would hide her.

I pulled her letter out of my pocket. It was well-creased by now; I read it every night before going to sleep. Signore diGiorno—he must be a wealthy man, to travel so far and to effortlessly bring strangers back to his home. Perhaps he would be well-known.

I made my way to the wealthier section of the city, and entered a prosperous-looking tavern, savoring the lack of hostile stares.

"Good day!" I said cheerfully to the bartender, using my best Italian accent. "I am a stranger around here, but I am trying to locate an acquaintance of mine…Signore diGiorno. Do you know the family?"

"Of course," he said cheerfully. "Are you planning to attend their ball?"

"Oh, are they having a ball?"

"Yes, a masked ball, on Marti Gras. I think Liuti, the older son, is the one who's throwing it; he just got back from a trip to Greece, you know." He leaned towards me confidentially. "People are saying he brought back a woman. Quite a looker, too. It's quite a scandal, seeing as he's married."

"Where exactly do the diGiorno's live?"

He looked at me a bit suspiciously—perhaps I had been too abrupt—but obligingly gave me an address, and directions.

"You've been quite helpful," I told him. "My thanks."

_Ah, Vasilida,_ I thought as I left. _A married man? You should not have to stoop to such things._

_I will make sure that you never have to again._


	16. The Ball

The ball was an invitation-only affair, but I was able to enter unseen through a window. To my skeletal mask and black clothing I had added only one embellishment—a crown. Tonight, I would be king of the dead.

The crowd laughed and chattered all around me, sounding like the sea. Music was in the air, and the smells of food and perfume. The diGiorno mansion was impressive, opulent and lush, but could be no more than a backdrop to the dancers.

They glittered, the nobility of Venice; their masks and clothing shone. The women dazzled the eye with jewelry, and both sexes wore ornate and beautiful masks and costumes. White and black, sapphire blue and deep forest green, red and yellow and purple and orange swirled before my eyes.

Still, Vasilida stood out like a swan among ducks. She was a cold, pale contrast to so many bronzed socialites, and wore a delicate, diaphanous gown of the lightest pink, with a feathered mask in the shape of a butterfly. Flowers were bound up in her hair; she needed no other jewelry.

She was, without a doubt, Persephone. She was springtime embodied.

I stood in the shadows, watching her as she whirled by in the arms of another. Signor diGiorno was an eyesore of gold, obviously dressed as the sun. A short, small-boned woman portraying the moon glared at him as he held Vasilida; she was, I gathered, his wife.

Finally, he left Vasilida by the table of refreshments and went to pay some attention to his spouse. She sighed quietly, looking sad behind her mask.

"Why do you sigh, Signorina?" I asked her, disguising my voice slightly.

"Oh!" she jumped. "I am sorry, signor. I not to see you," she said in clumsy Italian. "To speak French?"

"Oui, mademoiselle," I assured her, giving myself an Italian accent.

"Oh, good," she responded. "What were you saying?"

"I asked why you sighed," I said gently. "Beautiful women should not sigh at balls, unless it is with happiness."

"Oh…I miss someone," she told me. "He would have loved it here. He had…a certain fondness for masks." She smiled crookedly.

"Well, dwelling on the past will do you no good," I told her, barely able to contain the happiness I felt. She missed me! "Perhaps you would care to dance with me? It seems quite appropriate."

"How do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, you are quite obviously Persephone," I said. "Spring herself is not lovelier. As Hades, I think that I have the right to claim a dance!"

She smiled. "Well, of course," she said. "I would hate to be carried off to the underworld for disagreeing!"

I took her in my arms, savoring her warmth. She started a bit, feeling the cold of my hand, and looked closely at me.

"Have you been in Italy long?" I asked, hoping to diffuse suspicion.

"Not long," she said. "Not long enough to learn Italian, at any rate."

"You are to be commended for your efforts in that direction," I told her honestly. "Not many visitors to foreign nations make such an attempt.

"I may be here for a while," she said with another sigh. "I have nowhere else to go."

"There is always somewhere else to go."

Her eyes met mine, and widened. Of course; my eyes are an unusual, almost yellow color. I had not thought that she would remember, but apparently she did.

"Erik?" she whispered, as we spun together amidst the other dancers. "Is that you?"

I nodded.

"Why…why are you here?" she asked.

"I owe you something," I told her. I had worked out this line, mentally rehearsed this exchange, many times over the last few days.

"You don't," she insisted. "You gave me more than enough."

"Ah, but you gave me something, just before you left, which I did not return."

"If it's about the money, I thought it was only right to pay for my own room—"

"It is not."

"Then what…"

Pushing aside all of my nervousness, my fear of rejection, I leaned forward and gently put my lips to hers. She was still for a second or two; I thought that my heart would stop. I understood, then, why she thought I rejected her back at the hotel in Brindisi.

All such thoughts fled from me when she threw her arms around my neck and eagerly kissed me back. I was not certain what I was supposed to do, but I opened my mouth a bit when I felt her doing so. The sensations were odd, and not exactly what I had imagined, but still wonderful…almost too wonderful.

It is probably a good thing that I felt a hand clap down on my shoulder just then; otherwise, who knows what could have happened.

"Excuse _me_," said Liuti in Italian. In French, he added, "Vasilida, what on Earth are you doing?"

"Oh, shut up," she told him. "Come on, Hades. Let's find somewhere else to be."

We left signor diGiorno with an astonished look on his face. I believe that I caught of glimpse of his wife, looking spitefully happy.

* * *

In the highest of spirits, we ran out of the mansion, laughing. She held my hand in hers; the warmth of it was divine. Once we were in a cab, I wound my hands into her hair with the flowers, and kissed her again and again; I could not help myself, and she did not seem to mind.

It was bliss; it was paradise. I was certain that it could not last.

That thought put me into a more solemn mood. I drew back a few inches, and studied Vasilida's face intently.

"What's wrong?" she asked, removing her butterfly mask.

"I…I can hardly believe that this is happening," I told her. "It is, perhaps, something I've dreamed of, but…never something that I expected."

"What do you mean?"

"Vasilida…." I paused, uncertain how to tell her how momentous this was for me. "Do you realize that _you_ were the first woman ever to kiss me, back in Brindisi?"

"What?" she asked incredulously. "Really?"

"That is why I did not know what to do," I admitted. "I thought that you felt obligated to me…that you thought you owed me physical favors in return for educating you and showing you around Europe."

"I thought you didn't want me," she said. "When you asked me why I was there, and then didn't kiss me back….I thought you were asking me to leave."

"Never!" I protested. "I wanted you with me…and I wanted, well, all that you offered, I mean, with the kiss…but I didn't want you to feel obligated to me."

She leaned forward with affection—perhaps even love—shining from her eyes.

"You're the stupidest genius I ever met," she told me. Then she kissed me again.

The cab jolted to a stop just as I was reaching to put my arms around her.


	17. Together

**So sorry for the long delay, all. I've been driving myself crazy trying to write you a sexy sexy sex scene, but I just couldn't do it. Updates should get more regular now.**

I overpaid the cab driver in my haste to get into the inn, then rushed ahead of Vasilida to open the door for her. She giggled.

We rushed up the stairs together, still in high spirits…but when we entered my room, I paused.

It seemed so…so _sordid._ Not that it was a bad little inn, but…how many other men had Vasilida accompanied into rented rooms? I did not want to be just another of them.

"What's wrong?" she asked, as I stood silently, looking at her in contemplation.

I did not know how to answer. She would take a clumsy confession of my feelings as a criticism of her lifestyle…she would think that I was calling her a whore.

Would it be so terrible if I _was_ just another lover to her? At least it would be better than anything I had experienced so far.

"Are you nervous?" she asked. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to, you know."

I continued to stare at her, not sure what to do.

"This is silly," she finally said with a laugh. "We've both tried to…erm…force our affections on the other at some point, you back in Persia and me after we met up in Turkey. But now that—"

"I thought you said that you didn't realize it was me, back in Turkey," I interrupted.

"Well…sort of. Ah…" she blushed. "I thought it was someone else, who I was pretending was you."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"It doesn't matter," she said quickly, sitting down on the bed and patting the place next to her.

I sat, gingerly.

"Erik, what do you want?" she asked seriously.

"You," I admitted.

Smiling, she reached up and pulled off my mask. Her expression did not change when my face was revealed.

"Here I am," she said, and kissed me.

What happened next was a blur of sensation; of soft touches, delicate sighs, and soft moans that made me feel as though my blood had turned to fire. I am certain that I was far clumsier and less sure of myself than many of the men Vasilida had been with, but she did not seem to mind. She gently guided me when I did not know what to do, and encouraged me with sounds and caresses.

All too soon, it was over, and we lay tangled together so that her beauty and my ugliness were just parts of one whole, and everything was good and right and perfect.

* * *

I slept soundly that night, wrapped up with Vasilida. At some point after midnight, she woke me with a gentle kiss that quickly became more, and we loved each other again, more slowly, with less desperate urgency. The fact that she would wake me to initiate such things removed any lingering doubts I had about her motivation. She really did want me.

As I fell asleep again, with my head pillowed on her as I had dreamed so often, I sent a silent prayer of thanks to a deity I did not believe in.

* * *

I woke as the first finger of dawn made its way beneath the curtains of our little room. It had seemed cramped, dirty, and even sordid before…but I felt as if our love had sanctified it. This was not simply a hotel room; it was a temple of Aphrodite.

I would have stayed there, happily holding Vasilida until she woke, but reality had to intrude in the form of an arm cramp. We had worked ourselves into an odd position in our sleep, and the weight of her head was bending my arm back unnaturally.

It was hardly romantic, but at least it convinced me that I wasn't dreaming.

I was unsure what the etiquette was for this type of situation. Should I wake her up? Should I attempt to remove my arm without waking her? Would that even be possible?

I slowly began to pull my arm out from beneath her head. Slowly…slowly…but she woke up anyway.

"Good morning," she said sleepily, lifting her head so that I could remove my arm.

"Good morning," I replied. I bent down to kiss her, feeling extremely daring.

For the third time since we had been reunited (and the third time in my life) we made love. After, as we held each other, I gently stroked her hair, staring at her beautiful face.

She stared back, but her eyes were full of—dare I say it?—love, so I did not mind in the least.

* * *

I have been subjected to the sight of young lovers many times in my life.

When I was a boy among the gypsies, they would sit close together by the fire, sharing a kiss as the others jocularly encouraged them.

In Italy, the men working for Giovanni would sometimes receive visits from their sweethearts, and sneak off into the shadows for a quick embrace.

When a pair decided that the back of my magician's tent was sufficiently private for an encounter, I made a point of terrifying them so badly that they ran off, screaming.

Everywhere in the world, there are young lovers. I had hated them all, resented them for reminding me of what could never be.

Now I was one.

We toured the streets of Venice, out in the open, without attracting stares; several people still wore masks, although the revelry was officially over. We would step into the shadows to share a kiss; we would hold hands as we walked through the city; we would tease each other and laugh.

She was a far stronger drug than any I had tried in Persia. We rushed back to the hotel room long before dusk, most days, eager to return to our own private world, full of far more wonders than Venice, and more happiness than I had ever imagined.

I would lie basking in her presence afterwards, and we would talk…sometimes of happy trifles, other times more seriously.

"I think that mother was probably a prostitute, although of course I didn't know it at the time," she told me when I asked her about her family. "I certainly never heard any mention of who my father had been, and she was out most nights, in cheap jewelry. I don't know what she died of, but I suppose it could have been some sort of pox.

"I was perhaps six or seven at the time. That's a good age to be a beggar; people feel sorry for a little blonde waif, more than they would for an older girl. When I'd scraped up enough money to pay a doctor to look at her, he was nice enough to take her body off my hands gratis…I suppose that he was going to dissect it, or something.

"I was able to support myself by begging for a while after that, and stealing food from vendors, although I couldn't pay for the room any more. I slept wherever I could.

"A little while after I started growing breasts, the madame of a brothel offered to take me in and give me work. It was pretty bad at first, but I got used to it. And it was a good brothel, as far as that goes; they made sure the men were clean, and wouldn't hurt the girls too much.

"What about you, Erik? What was your childhood like?"

If hers had been all happiness and flowers, I am not certain that I could have told her of mine. As it was, though, perhaps she would understand.

"My mother was a well-bred woman," I told her. "My father died just before I was born. She did not know what to do with a child that looked dead."

Everything poured out of me…the monster in the mirror, the mob that killed my dog, running away and being taken by Gypsies. My time in the cage as the "Living Dead Boy."

There were tears in her eyes as I told her about the first man I killed—a Gypsy who tried to molest me.

"Oh, Erik," she said, pulling herself close to me. "Why is there so much pain in the world?"

"I don't know," I confessed. "There's so much ugliness…" Unconsciously, I reached up to touch my face.

"Promise me that you won't leave me, Erik," she said.

"Why would I?" I asked, surprised. "I should be begging you to stay. You're beautiful and brilliant and full of life, and I'm…I'm the Living Dead Boy."

"I love you, Erik, and I couldn't bear to lose you. Just promise me."

"Of course I promise," I assured her.

Holding each other close, we slept.


	18. The Past

All good things must come to an end, and our time in Venice was no exception. Eventually, reluctantly, we began to discuss our next destination.

Vasilida was all for remaining in Italy. She had yet to visit Florence, Naples, or Rome. It was Rome that concerned me; what if I ran into someone I had known when I lived there? Worst of all, what if I saw Giovanni himself?

I stalled, and suggested that perhaps we should continue on to France, since we were already in the north of Italy. Why go all the way back down to Naples…or even Rome?

"Erik, why don't you want to stay in Italy?" she asked me eventually.

"Well, we're already so close to France, we may as well move on…" I said.

"But just yesterday you suggested that perhaps we should go to Egypt instead. Egypt is much farther away from France than Naples is."

"Well, yes…"

"Erik, you can tell me."

Although the idea of sharing my past with her was painful, I could see no other alternative.

"I lived in Rome for a time, Vasilida…that's where I studied architecture and masonry. I was apprenticed to a man named Giovanni. He had a daughter." I drew in breath, exhaled it in a long sigh.

"She had some romantic notion that I hid my face because…I don't know what she though. But she would not accept the idea that I was ugly, and she fancied herself in love with whatever it was that she thought hid behind the mask. I must admit that she held a certain attraction for me, as well.

"She insisted that I show her my face. We were on a terrace…when she saw it, she tried to run, but there was nowhere to go…she fell. She died, because of me. I left Rome that day.

"I can't go back, Vasilida. What if I see Giovanni? He treated me like a son, he taught me so much, and I repaid him by killing his daughter."

She kissed me lightly.

"Thank you for telling me, Erik. People are…" she shook her head and shrugged. "I understand if you don't want to go back there, but maybe you should?"

"Why?" I asked, confused.

"To apologize," she said simply. "Although it wasn't really your fault, you know. And if Giovanni really did think of you as a son, then he lost two children on that day. Couldn't you go back to him?"

"I…perhaps. Perhaps I could, if I had you with me. You are right. I should apologize to him."

"Well, we don't have to go there right away. Why don't we head to Florence in a few days, then to Rome? We can go down to Naples after, and see Pisa on the way back north."

"Yes. That is a good plan."

She motioned for me to turn around, and began to rub my back. A skill she had picked up in the brothel, no doubt, but she was quite good at it.

"Thank you for telling me," she said. "I know it hurts to share the past, but don't you feel better after?"

"I do," I said, and was surprised to find that it was true.

I was sad to say goodbye to our room at the inn, but the thought that Vasilida and I would make new memories, happy memories, everywhere we went made leaving easier. Traveling with her before had been the happiest time of my life; now, I was even happier. Would being with her continue to get better and better, forever? I could hardly see how this situation could be improved, but did not doubt that she could find a way.

We reached Florence by Easter, and managed to see the Scoppio del Carro, an odd ceremony involving an exploding cart. Vasilida and I laughed at the spectacle, and the people cheered. Apparently, explosions bring good luck.

We stayed for a week in Florence before moving on. It was more difficult to sightsee here; so long after Marti Gras, and so far from Venice, a man in a mask attracted attention. Vasilida went out alone sometimes, at my encouraging, when I couldn't stand another day of stares.

One evening, when we were walking together along the Ponte Sana Trinita, a young man interrupted our discussion of bridge construction to flirt with Vasilida.

"What are you doing with this all-in-black guy?" He asked in clumsy French. "I'm sure I'm much more fun."

I was about to reply with threats, but Vasilida spoke first.

"I am positive," she told him, "that he is TWICE the man you are." She raised her eyebrows.

We walked away to the sounds of the man's friends yelling "Pene piccolo! Pene piccolo!"

"What are they saying?" asked Vasilida. Her Italian was still rusty.

"I believe it's 'small penis,'" I told her.

We laughed all the way back to the inn.

Finally, though, we left Naples. The road to Rome, though long, was far too short for me; I was terrified of seeing Giovanni again, of seeing hatred in his eyes.

One night, as I lay awake beside the softly snoring Vasilida, it occurred to me that he could already be dead.

Suddenly, I could not be in Rome fast enough, and I was incredibly glad that Vasilida had convinced me to take this trip. The thought of never seeing Giovanni again was a terrible one. What if he died before I had the chance to apologize?

When we did reach Rome, Vasilida had a hard time convincing me not to go straight to Giovanni's house, late as it was.

"You said that he's an old man," she told me firmly. "Old men need their sleep, and so do I. The chances of him dying between now and tomorrow morning are incredibly slim."

"But if he does—"

"He won't. Now let's go and find an inn."

Early the next morning, we were standing on the doorstep of the familiar old house.

"Erik, go ahead and knock," she told me.

"What if he's moved?" I asked.

"Then the people living here might know where he is."

As I continued to hesitate, she sighed, and rapped hard on the door, twice.

After a few moments, a young woman came to answer the door. I blinked, unable to say anything.

She was the spitting image of Luciana.

"Well?" she asked impatiently as I stood in silence. Her voice was much higher than Luciana's had been, and I now saw that she did look a bit different. Besides, she did not recognize me.

"Is this the home of Giovanni the mason?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm his granddaughter. What do you want?"

"I need to speak with him," I told her. "It's very important."

"Grandfather is too sick for speaking today," she said firmly. "Good-bye."

"Wait!" I said as the door closed. "Is it the lung sickness? I can help!"

"You don't look like a doctor," she said, but she opened the door again.

"At least tell him that Erik is here to see him, won't you?" I asked.

"Wait here," she said, closing the door in my face.

"That was rude," Vasilida commented. "What did she say?"

"She's Giovanni's granddaughter," I told her. "She's going to go and tell him that I'm here. Vasilida, would you do something for me?"

"Of course," she said.

"Would you go back to the inn and get my medical bag? It sounds like Giovanni's sick. I may be able to help him."

She hurried off as the door opened again.

"Follow me," said not-Luciana.

The house was eerily familiar, as if I had never left. Not-Luciana encouraged that impression by looking exactly like Luciana from behind; they had the same shining hair. It was as if I had never left, as if she had never fallen…except that I was suddenly years older, and far taller.

"He's in there," she told me, pointing to the same old bedroom door. "Try not to tire him."

"If the girl who was with me at the door comes back, let her in," I told her. "She has my medical supplies."

I opened the door slowly.

"Erik?" called a familiar voice, though enfeebled by time and illness. "Is it really you?"

"It is, sir," I said simply. "I…I came to apologize for what happened that night…for what happened to Luciana."

"Nonsense," he said, "I forgave you for that long ago. Come over here so I can take a look at you."

I walked over slowly, hardly able to believe what I heard. The sight of him was heartbreaking; the sturdy frame of a mason was gone, replaced by a thinness to rival mine. His hair was snowy and his skin was sallow; his breath rattled in and out. But it was the same Giovanni; I could see it in his eyes.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he said.

"I…I wasn't planning to return, but—"

Just then, Vasilida rushed in.

"I have your medicine bag, Erik," she told me breathlessly.

"Who is this?" asked Giovanni.

"This is Vasilida," I told him. I was unsure of how to describe our relationship, so I simply added, "I love her."

"She's beautiful," he told me with a smile. "You've done well for yourself."

"I know," I admitted. "Now hush and I'll mix you some medicine."


	19. Deathbeds and Disappointments

**I am so sorry for the long wait. Unfortunately, most of what's left in this story is tidying-up: tying off loose ends, finishing off old characters, that kind of thing. It's pretty boring to write, to be honest; it's not like I'm being kept in suspence, since I know exactly what I'm going to have happen. Anyway, if anyone's still reading, enjoy.**

We stayed in that old, familiar house for many days. I knew that I could not cure Giovanni's illness, but I could at least ease his suffering. Vasilida toured the city with not-Luciana, whose name was actually Allegra. I suppose she was Luciana's niece. Although her name means "cheerful," she was actually a prickly, angry young woman. Anyone could see, though, that she cared very much for her grandfather.

Still, she was young, and I think she was glad that Vasilida gave her an excuse to get out of the house. Between her few words of French and Vasilida's ever-improving Italian, they managed to communicate all right.

I spent most of my time caring for Giovanni, so much that I rarely even saw Vasilida. We talked about the old days, and about what we had done since I left. (I skipped over a few small details, such as the torture chamber and my attempted rape of Vasilida.)

Every time I tried to bring up Luciana, he told me that he forgave me and that was the end of it. I didn't push the issue.

He asked me about Vasilida. Although I had not meant to tell him of her unsavory past, it eventually slipped out of me.

"How fortunate that you found each other!" he said. "It is like a play…her, never loved, used because of her beauty…and you—"

"Never loved because of my ugliness," I finished.

"Until her," he reminded me.

"Yes…she saw my face even before we met, did I tell you? I was doing a magic show…taking of my mask was my best trick, and didn't even require any preparation."

"She was more used to ugliness than Luciana," he said gently. "My daughter was foolish and spoiled…your Vasilida was not."

"I suppose," I said.

"Are you going to marry her?" he asked.

"I…never really thought of it," I replied, startled. "Who would want to marry me?"

"She might."

* * *

He died a few days after that conversation, gently, in his sleep. Allegra didn't say anything to me, but I could tell that she resented me for giving her false hope. I had said that I could help; I had given him medicine that made him seem better; he died. I had even taken her place by his side during his final days.

We left right after the funeral. Vasilida halfheartedly mentioned the idea of going on to Naples, but both of us were tired of Italy by then. We headed north, to France.

All along the way, I wrote a requiem for Giovanni. I called it "Goodbye, Father"; I assumed that he wouldn't mind.

I also spent a great deal of time thinking about what he had suggested. I had always taken it for granted that no woman would ever wish to marry me…but I had also assumed that no woman would ever love me, and Vasilida did.

The more I considered the idea of marrying her, the more it delighted me. To be with her forever was my dearest wish, and she had asked me to promise never to leave her, hadn't she? Perhaps she would agree to it.

One night, as she slept, I crept reluctantly from the warmth of our bed and dressed as stealthily as I could. I may have only minimal experience when it comes to romance, but even I know that a ring is essential for a proposal.

* * *

By the time we arrived in Paris, I had a perfect plan. We would go to a wonderful restaurant, where she could sample the very finest of French cooking. After that, we would go to the park for a walk in the moonlight. There was a beautiful and very private clearing where I would propose under the full moon. I may not be the most attractive of men, but I could give her romance anyway.

Dinner went well, but as we left the restaurant it began to rain. It was not just any rainstorm—the heavens poured down water as though God was determined to prevent me from proposing.

"Perhaps it will clear up soon," I said. "I had something I very much wished to show you in the park."

"I doubt it," she said. "Can't we go some other time?"

"Please," I said. "Let's go there and wait in the carriage for a while. Perhaps the rain will stop."

"All right," she said, skeptically.

We waited for ten minutes, but the downpour continued.

"Erik, I'm getting cold," she said. "Can't we please go back to the inn?"

"No! Tonight…tonight is the perfect night! It was all going to be perfect…"

"What?" she asked in confusion. "What's so important about tonight?"

"Nothing. I just…I…that is…"

To hell with it, I decided. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the box with the ring in it.

"I had a wonderful speech planned out," I told her, not daring to look at her. "About the moonlight shining on you. But…perhaps it is best if I simply ask. Vasilida, will you marry me?"

"Erik…" Her voice sounded…tortured. I looked at her face and saw that her eyes were swimming with tears.

"I see. Very well. Forget that I asked." I numbly replaced the ring in my pocket.

"Can't we just go on as we have?" she asked. She sounded miserable. "It's not that I don't love you—"

"It's just that you won't want me around for your whole life. I understand. Who would?" I laughed bitterly.

"No, no, it's not that! It's just…you don't deserve to be married to someone like me."

"Oh, it's just that I'm not good enough!"

"No, I meant that I'M not—"

"Forget it."

I told the driver to return us to the hotel. Then, there was silence.

* * *

Gradually, I got over my hurt. I realized that I had forgotten that, for Vasilida, sex was not a meaningful act. "Lover" and "acquaintance" were practically synonyms for her. I told myself firmly to be grateful for whatever time she deigned to give me, and not to ask for more.

It did hurt, though. The memory of my rejected proposal became a barrier between us. Even when we made love, it was not the same.

She began to grow curious about my specific origins, and wanted to see the place of my birth. I decided that perhaps it would be good to see that house, which had been a prison to me for so long, acting as a home to a happy family. Presumably Madeleine had sold it to someone well-to-do when she ran off with her doctor.

When we finally stood before it, though, I had second thoughts.

"I will not go in," I told Vasilida.

"Oh, Erik, don't be silly."

She put her hand in mine. Well…at least I had support. I knocked.

To my great surprise, I recognized the woman who opened the door.

"Holy Virgin!" she gasped. "_Erik!_"

I was momentarily struck speechless. This was Mademoiselle Perrault, the only person who was ever kind to me when I was a child. But how could she be here? I stammered out a greeting and she hesitantly invited me inside, shrinking back as though I would suddenly strike her. I do not believe she noticed that there was another in the room until Vasilida cleared her throat.

"Erik, would you introduce me to your friend?" she asked pointedly. I realized that we had stared in silence for an unpardonable length of time.

"My apologies. Vasilida, this is Mademoiselle Perrault. She was a friend of my mothers. It is still mademoiselle?" I asked.

"Yes," she whispered. "Charmed, I'm sure."

"Mademoiselle, how is it that you are living in my mother's old house?"

"I don't live here. She does. She has been ill, very ill. I was starting to think of putting an ad in the paper. To see if you would come, you know. But here you are. And so it won't be necessary after all. She will be so pleased to see you." The poor woman noticed that she was babbling, and silenced herself.

I sank into a chair. My mother was still here?

"He stayed here with her, then? Her doctor?" I asked hollowly. It seemed a disgusting travesty for the two of them to live normal lives—perhaps even raise normal children—here in my childhood hell…

"The doctor? Who—oh! No, he returned to the city, and she remained here."

I reeled. The sacrifice I had made, in leaving, had been for nothing. Even when I tried to help my mother, I did nothing but harm the poor woman…the poor, miserable, vile woman who had taught me that love was nothing but an invitation to harm.

"Let me see her," I commanded, standing.

"This way," she squeaked, and scurried towards the master bedroom. Vasilida followed, a silent observer.

* * *

She was asleep. Mademoiselle Perrault moved to wake her up, but I gestured for her to stop, and she meekly obeyed. She always was frightened of me.

Madeline was a withered afterimage of her former beauty. Time and illness had not been kind to her. Nor had loneliness, I am certain. Why did she not go with her dashing young doctor to the city?

She stirred, as though she felt my eyes on her. Her own eyes slowly opened. For a moment she stared at me in confusion.

"Erik?" she asked at last. "Am I dreaming?"

"No, Madeline. I am here."

"Oh, Erik. I wronged you so badly. I won't ask you to forgive me…I can never make it up to you. My poor son." She was silent for a moment, then said, "I have been talking to God, although he has not answered. I asked him to let me stay alive as long as possible, to give you a chance to reach me, so that I could at least apologize. I did not think it would happen…so I asked for another chance. I asked him to send me back into the world, if I died without seeing you. To give me the opportunity to redeem myself."

I did not quite know what to say.

"I am here. You will not need to put God to any trouble." I could not keep the sneer out of my voice. "Your apology has been heard. Perhaps I will even accept it, one day. But not today."

"I do not have many days left," she said. I left the room, boiling over with emotions.

I could hear Vasilida talking quietly. What could those two have to say to one another? I gave them all the time that I felt was necessary.

"Vasilida! We are leaving."

"Leaving?" she asked, poking her head out the door. "But your mother needs you, Erik."

"She has never wanted me around before. I am certain that she does not now. I am leaving. Join me if you wish."

I walked quickly out of the house. Vasilida followed, apologizing as she went.

"I am sorry, Mademoiselle Perrault. I will try to convince him to forgive her…or, at least, to attend the funeral."

I snorted.

"That was rude," she said, catching up to me on the path from the house. "Why didn't you speak to her more? She was your mother."

"She may have given birth to me, but she was NOT my mother."

"Erik…I know she hurt you, but I think she is truly sorry…"

"Enough. I will not hear another word on the subject. Coming here was a mistake."

We rode back to town in unhappy silence.

* * *

**Well, that's my take on Kay's take on Christine. A few people asked me when and if she'd be in this story, and here's the answer: there's no reason for her to exist now. I don't think that all Christines in all versions of the story are a replacement for or a reincarnation of Erik's mother, but I think it's a definite possibility when it comes to Kay's Christine. Kind of weird, I know. I'll try to update in a timely manner, but no promises.**

* * *


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